


February Prompts

by Eremiss



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Introspection, Light Angst, Nightmares, Rambling, Reflection, Shameless use of in game dialogue, Shyness, Spoilers, Training, loosely related, no particular order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 07:37:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 37,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18383921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eremiss/pseuds/Eremiss
Summary: Copying over my list of February prompt responses from Tumblr to here, almost all of which are about my WoL Guinevere Ashe, or Gwen for short.





	1. Index

Responses jump all over the place, and I play fast and loose with the in-game timeline in general. I tend to think of it like each expansion taking around a year in-and-of-itself and then the post-.0 stuff happening over the months (at least 6, usually more) after that.   
This doesn't really fit with the theoretical timeline I've heard about which, thanks to that dude in Doma that said Hien's father died "a year ago" insinuates that about _a year --one, singular--_  passed between Yugiri's arrival in 2.2 and when you meet that particular dude in 4.0/Stormblood _**are you kidding**_ **me** ****  
So fuckit, I'll vaguely hint at my own, or ignore it altogether! _  
_

One of these things is not like the others! Bones is about other characters, rather than Gwen because I couldn't come up with anything at the time OTL

1\. Purification  
2\. Repetition  
3\. Pearls  
4\. Bones  
5\. Humility  
6\. Childhood  
7\. Violet  
8\. Ice  
9\. Empty  
10\. Ancestors  
11\. Drowning  
12\. Sincerity  
13\. Chocolate  
14\. Love  
15\. Amethyst  
16\. Boundaries  
17\. Hunger  
18\. Warmth  
19\. Bruises  
20\. Blizzard  
21\. Whistling  
22\. Doppelganger  
23\. Safety  
24\. Ribbons  
25\. Mother  
26\. Thaw  
27\. Kiss  
28\. Memorial


	2. Purification

It was oppressively bright and near disastrously hot, but Thanalan was rarely anything else. Gwen had grown used to it, and preferred the heat of the desert to the chill of winter or Aldenard’s northern climbs, but sweating was never pleasant, nor were long walks in the desert. She trudged back the way she had come, soaked from the knees down with dirt caking on her boots with every step, water sloshing noisily in the buckets she carried. 

Wading out into Soot Creek had been refreshing, but the walk back in wet boots was less so. Should have taken them off… Gwen thought as the tents of Stonesthrow came into view. Reminded why she was out in the midday sun in the first place had her squaring her shoulders and pushing forward, ignoring the sweat that was plastering her hair to her forehead and the strain in her hands and shoulders.

Soot Creek’s water was fresh, but that didn’t mean it was clean. Luckily, that was a situation that could be easily rectified. Alchemists purified water with an alembic and water shards, but she and the refugees in Stonesthrow didn’t have any such device, nor did she expect them to be able to maintain one even if they did. Gwen didn’t have much knowledge of alchemical tools, but all tools needed care and upkeep, both of which, in the end, would cost money the refugees simply didn’t have. If they’d had money they wouldn’t be worrying about basic things like water. And thus she planned to rely on the experience and knowledge that she’d accrued over the years of growing up alone in Gridania.

Gwen set the heavy buckets among the other half-dozen the refugees had already brought back, taking a moment to examine the lot as she caught her breath. They all seemed clean and free of unlucky flora or fauna, though one or two had a bit of sediment gathering at the bottom. She’d waded out into the creek to try and avoid silt and sediment from the banks, but it seemed others hadn’t thought to do the same.

A handful of people gathered as Gwen a dark glass bottle from her bag, eager to learn about this trick she had told them about before requesting they help gather buckets of water. They wanted whatever they could to make their lives a little easier, and she was happy to help where she could.

Gwen didn’t know the science of it, but she did know the correct ratios and timing, and that was good enough for now. If anyone wanted to now more, they’d have to go to the Alchemist’s Guild.

“So tha’s jus…” Someone started, confused.

“Iodine,” Gwen said with a nod. She unscrewed the lid, the pungent smell immediately finding her nose.

“Jus’ iodine? Nothin’ else?”

“That’s all you need, technically speaking. It can make water safe to drink in the right amounts, and it’s healthy besides. It won’t get rid of dirt and the odd flavor or two like an alchemist’s alembic will,” she cast a glance at the buckets she’d noted earlier, “but it will be perfectly drinkable.”

Mumbles moved around the gathered folk, some of them making noises like it was a fact they’d heard before and forgotten until that point. Some sounded skeptical, which wasn’t terribly surprising. Gwen waited until they’d died down to continue, “A teaspoon and a half should be enough for one of these buckets. Or double it if the water is cloudy or dirty. Getting a more exact measurement requires measuring the water in onzes, so it’s all a bit inexact without a scale. But you needn’t worry too much. A little over is fine, but if you’re concerned you can dilute it down again. Once you’ve added it, you need to wait a full bell before using or drinking it.”

“And here I thought it was just for cleaning wounds and the like,” a lalafel woman said thoughtfully, folding her arms and watching as Gwen carefully measured the dark liquid into a borrowed teaspoon.

Teaching the refugees how to help themselves was the best thing Gwen could do for them, seeing how she didn’t have the coin or skill to help them any other way. Even with her burgeoning red mage healing she could only do so much before she’d worn herself out, and bumps and scrapes were just a fact of life living outside the walls.

“It’s useful for a lot of things,” she replied, pouring the iodine into the water and stirring it briefly. She moved on to the next bucket, “One bottle can give Stonesthrow potable water for a fraction of what it would cost to buy it outright, though I can’t promise much in the way of flavor.”

“Teaspoon an’ a half in a bucket, wait a full bell,” someone else mumbled to themselves.

Gwen dispelled any lingering doubts when she spent the next bell in Stonesthrow, passing the time playing with the children, and took a fearless drink from one of the buckets. There was nothing so dramatic as cheers or clapping, but worried expressions eased and tensed shoulders relaxed.

Purifying water was an easy solution, and she knew any further help would be a lot more difficult to manage. It was a start, at least, and Gwen contented herself with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Never done a prompt-a-day thing, so I thought I’d at least give it a go!_  
>  _Also I’m pretty literal. Don’t expect me to take too many liberties or get too abstract with concepts lol_  
>  _I’m using it as practice to write generally shorter things, as even my short stories usually end up exploding into 10-15 pages I never even finish /cough._  
>  _I’m also using it as an excuse to make myself write some semi-slice-of-life type scenarios rather than only the big, titular scenes or fluff and cuddles and the like._  
>  _BUT I’M VERBOSE AND THIS IS HARD._  
> 


	3. Repetition

_Crack!_  A solid blow to the immobile dummy’s side that had wood splintering.

The saber whistled through the air and struck with another sharp, _thwack!_  that reverberated up her arms.

Gwen darted back and shifted her weight before lunging forward, thrusting her blade with all the strength she could muster. The sharp point struck center mass with a satisfyingly heavy  _thunk_ , half the blade disappearing into the target before it finally came to a stop.

Her wrist twitched, left then right, then she jerked the blade free, jumping back to put a little more than a yalm between her and her ‘opponent’. She landed lightly on the sandy ground, her blade and focus snapping to the ready, equally prepared to continue the assault or block a strike.

She hesitated, eyes darting to the side before quickly snapping back to her adversary. She hoped that little lapse had gone unnoticed, wishing to avoid another lecture about keeping her eyes on her opponent.

The silence stretched for so long she began to wonder if she should repeat the strikes, dodges and parries again.

“Excellent work!" X’hrun’s sudden proclamation made her jump, "I’m pleased to see your swordplay is improving most expeditiously.”

Gwen dropped her fatigued arms to her sides with a sigh of relief, matching her instructor’s proud grin.

“Although…”

She tensed, grin fading slightly. It seemed there was always an ‘although’.

X’hrun tapped the flat of his saber to her left foot, a critique she knew well. His grin sharpened to a smirk at the recognition and mild frustration that bloomed on Gwen’s face. The footwork wasn’t difficult, but the proper stance was something that continued to elude her.

Gwen expressed acknowledgement by way of a huff, her satisfaction dwindling as she shifted her feet further apart. She’d get it one of these days, she knew, but she’d been hoping to master the more simple aspects of dueling sooner, rather than later.

X’hrun pursed his lips, a pale brow arching.

Gwen shifted a little more.

His grin returned, the feather in his hat bobbing lightly when he nodded to the training dummy she’d been abusing for hours. “Again.”

Gwen mustered her strength and hefted her sword and focus obligingly, shifting her weight back and forth in an effort to better ingrain the feeling of the proper stance. After a moment of preparation she launched herself at the training dummy again with renewed vigor and determination.

“And do keep your eyes on your opponent this time.”

If Gwen hit the target dummy a little harder, she attributed it to her determination to improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _This was SOOOO MUCH EASIER than yesterday’s. And it was pretty easy to keep it short, too :D_
> 
> _L2RDM Gwen._
> 
> Did a bit of editing on a few things. Because I can never leave well enough alone with writing lol


	4. Pearls

Gwen peered curiously at Tataru’s choice of clothing as she considered the lalafel’s proposition. While appropriate for Costa del Sol, the bathing suit and cute pink sun hat somehow weren’t what she’d expected to find the coincounter wearing.

She asked slowly, “…Pearls?”

“Blood pearls, to be precise,” Tataru confirmed with a wide grin and a confident twinkle in her eye. “They have a most marvelous red hue. They’re quite expensive on the markets but absolutely free to gather yourself, so I thought I’d do a bit of pearl diving.”

Gwen had heard of pearl diving before, mostly from jewelers hawking their wares. She’d never fully considered that they meant people had literally dived for clams. Admittedly, the notion sounded silly now that she thought about it. She had thought farming or fishing for clams worked something like fishing for crabs and lobsters, with cages and traps that would be dropped and gathered later, and the term ‘diving’ was just added for the sake of making it sound impressive and difficult, thus justifying the price.

She looked out at the dazzling aqua waters and crystal sands of the beach, the sky perfectly clear and impossibly blue overhead. She could see a respectable amount of scantily-clad bathers, of both the sun and water varieties, from their perch on the docks, but she couldn’t spy anyone out in the deeper waters. “And those clams can be harvested here?”  
“Anywhere on the Bloodshore, actually. There’s a promising spot just south of Costa del Sol a man at the Drowning Wench told me about,” she said excitedly, either not noticing or ignoring Gwen’s mild skepticism. “The clams that produce blood pearls can only be harvested this time of year, so we’re in luck! You’d have to be part fish to try harvesting them any other time.”

“How far will you have to dive for the clams?” Gwen asked curiously. Tataru had never given the impression that she was an avid swimmer.

The lalafel peered at her strangely for a long moment before understanding lit her eyes. “Oh, no, no! No diving at all. The clams migrate to shallower waters this time of year, so you just have wade out and dig them up. There’s a fair bit of luck involved, what with having to find a clam in the first place then be lucky enough for it to have a pearl inside, but there’s no diving or anything like that.”

Well, at least Gwen hadn’t been entirely off-base about the ‘diving’ aspect of pearl diving.

She noticed Tataru was watching her with an expression similar to the one she’d worn when she’d declared she would be an Arcanist, a look of confidence with poorly concealed undercurrent of of hope for approval. Expectant and determined, but filed with trepidation.

“I’m not much for swimming myself, but it certainly sounds,” Gwen hesitated only slightly, “fun. A bit like treasure hunting, really, and who doesn’t like that?”

Tataru’s grin widened. “Treasure hunting! Exactly! And that’s why I require your assistance.”

Gwen shifted her weight slightly, leaning on her heels. She wasn’t overly fond of water or getting wet outside of bathing, and her swimming ability could best be described as ‘passable’. But Tataru had just finished telling her the clams had moved to shallower waters hadn't she? “With what, exactly?”

“I can handle gathering the clams and pearls, luck has always been on my side, but they’re also coveted by sea creatures of a rather fierce nature - and since I fared rather poorly in battle last time…” She trailed off, her bright expression drooping briefly before she shook it off and mustered her enthusiasm again, clearing her throat to regain her appropriately chipper tone, “Well, you’re an expert at that sort of thing and all! What do you say?”

Gwen smiled. “Lead the way. Though,” she paused, considering Tataru’s attire, “I suppose I’ll need a bathing suit unless I’m looking to brine my gear.”

Tataru giggled brightly, clapping her hands, “Good thinking! I’ll show you where I bought mine,” she motioned to her white suit and the red wrap around her hips, “I’m sure they’ll have just the thing for you. Just leave the haggling to me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Shameless appropriation of a level 50 MSQ is shameless._  
>  _This one was a little hard, outside pearl diving I wasn’t sure what to write about. Pearl jewelry?? But it came together quickly enough. ~~Probably because I remade an existing thing rather than making something from scratch~~_
> 
> __This could probably safely be considered ‘cheating’ in terms of replying to the prompt >.> Ah well. I got something written and posted, and it’s not five pages or something crazy long. Though it started going that way before I decided I didn’t need to reformat and rewrite the entire quest haha.__


	5. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100% legit couldn't think of something that involved Gwen. Even now, a month later, I still can't.
> 
> So instead this is 2 characters of the OT3 I have with my friends. Solenna is my character: A miquo'te black / white mage.

Solenna and Andy stood next to each other in the side yard, staring blankly down into the shallow hole at their feet. A veritable menagerie of pets and wind up minions tittered and scrabbled about in the house behind them as the other resident of the home went about her day, either undeterred by or unaware of the sudden quiet outside.

It had been a simple enough request at first. Solenna wanted a garden, “A flower garden,” she’d clarified, as the one at the front of the small house was for fruits and vegetables. Andy hadn’t been doing anything, not that it really would have mattered if he had, so he’d been tasked with digging while she readied the flowers.

And then he’d unearthed a skull.

“Is it a person?” Andy asked, shovel still in-hand, as he stared down at the dirt-covered shape.

Sol crouched down for a closer look, her long tail sticking out to help her balance on her toes. Unearthing more would certainly help discern what it was, but she wasn’t keen to touch it, and Andy’s shoveling had already put a crack in it. She stared incredulously at oblong shape, tilting her head one way and the other as she examined it.

It was bone, that much she was sure of. Sol leaned a little closer, ears swiveling forward as though it would help her concentration. She swatted at Andy when his looming blocked the light and he shifted aside with a small grumble.

Two hollows on the front could have been eye sockets, though they were too large for any of the Alliance or Imperial races. It also seemed to be missing a nose. Below that it stopped at a rough line, where something had impacted and broken the bone.

Sol made a thoughtful sound and sat back on her heels, tail swishing through the grass. “So,” she said slowly, “it’s definitely bone. And probably a skull.”

He arched a brow, eyeing the skull suspiciously. “Is it a person?”

“It’s person-like,” she replied vaguely.

“Well…” Andy rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well.”

Sol eyed him as she stood, her mismatched eyes full of blatant suspicion and accusation.

Andy frowned, having to look almost straight down to meet the miquo’te’s eye. “Oh, no, no way, this is not my fault.”

Sol didn’t reply, though skepticism still twinkled in her eye, and turned back to the skull. Eventually she said, “I guess we should dig it up, whatever it is?”

“Maybe it’s a voidsent,” Andy suggested. “A dead one.”

“Voidsent don’t really stick around after you kill them, they sort of just,” Sol made an explosion sound, curling her hand into a fist and and sharply spreading it again to demonstrate.

“A Garlean, then.”

“Uhh….”

“A Garlean experiment," he corrected.

“Maybe,” she trailed off thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s one of those Allagan experiments? Like what were in containment on Azys Lla?”

Andy nodded slowly, considering the pseudo-Behemoth they’d fought. “Could be. They were busting out left and right when we were there.”

They glanced down at the skull, then back to one another, then to the house, and then one another again. Perhaps it would be worth sharing that information, or informing the Adders?

They looked down at the skull in unison, “We should dig it up.”

They were both disappointed, and a little relieved, when further investigation revealed it to be nothing but an old, broken Ixali skull. It did, though, afford Andy the chance to show of his dragoon-honed throwing arm as he threw it as far across the Lavender Beds as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Solenna and Evangeline own the house, Andy just lives there like a bum. He does chores to earn his keep._
> 
> __I’m really looking forward to tomorrow though!! Some Guinevere backstory :D_ _


	6. Humility

Why Drest made his home out in the Severed String, Gwen wasn’t sure. Maybe so he’d be left alone, shielded from the outside world by the sheer effort it would take to reach him. Maybe he thought himself hidden except for the occasional work he did at the Raincatcher docks. Maybe he simply liked the wilderness, or some equally mundane reason.

It hadn’t rained in days but the ground was soft and wet underfoot when Duskfeather lighted on a low hill near Drest’s shack, the lowest points in the ground marked with shallow pools of stagnant water. Gwen’s griffin shifted and fidgeted unhappily, trying to keep his clawed feet from sinking into the mud as she swung down from the saddle. She patted his neck sympathetically and mumbled her gratitude, earning an annoyed-sounding squawk before he took off into the sky.

The strap on her borrowed rucksack slipped and Gwen shifted it back into place, threads of self-consciousness winding their way up her back now that she’d arrived. The trip had been spur-of-the-moment, and she’d been plagued with indecision about it since arriving on La Noscean soil. Gwen intended to be helpful, her motives for the visit and the supplies she’d brought nothing but altruistic. But not everyone was receptive to random acts of kindness, or viewed charity as anything but an opportunity to become indebted. Gwen had learned that from her visits to the Brume, along with how easily unrequested aide could come across as insulting or an effort to flaunt one’s wealth.

When Gwen tried to imagine what Drest would make of her visit she wound up with dozens of outcomes, mostly attributed to the fact that she hardly knew the man. And that was another thing that had her questioning her idea, her confidence still withering as she glanced up at the growing night. She didn’t see Duskfeather overhead. He probably found somewhere more suitable to perch, but she knew he wouldn’t be far.

Maybe she shouldn’t…

But Drest was Dalmascan. The only one around, if rumors were to be believed. And though Gwen had been born in Ul’dah, her parents’ constant praise of their conquered home had instilled a love for the place and its people that stuck to her like treacle.

_“Hiraeth,” Thancred had said once._

_A strange word. He’d probably found it in a poem or a play. “What’s that?”_

_“A term for homesickness or longing for a home one cannot return to. Or a home that never was.”  
_

Hiraeth. That may have had something to do with her visit, as well.

Gwen slogged doggedly across the marshy grass, trying to push the swell of uncertainty aside. 

The recollection of past interactions with Drest, when the Company of Heroes had sent her on all those ridiculous tasks, eased her uncertainty a little. Drest had been willing, if skittish, to accept her help, and he’d seemed like a decent enough person beneath his unfortunate state. And he was also someone who seemed to need a great deal of help. More than Gwen could give, honestly. Even still, she could at least make an effort, to try to do something, and that was what had spurred her into action in the first place. From there she’d just have to hope for the best.

The ground dried out a little as she approached the rickety shack, perched precariously amongst the branches of an old tree. She paused to look and listen for any sign of Drest or problematic wildlife, eyes scanning the twilit jungle around her.

All seemed quiet, aside from the chirp of birds and incessant screech and buzz of insects. She didn’t see any signs of recent travel, beast, humanoid or otherwise, and she wondered about the last time Drest had left the house. She felt a little better about the contents of her rucksack, though more worried about what state she’d find him in.

Gwen turned aside before reaching the stairs, approaching the remnants of a fire pit and a swath of dirty oilcloth that had been haphazardly draped over a small mound. Under the cloth she found a dwindling stack of kindling and split logs, the lot of it carelessly piled atop squat stones to keep them off the ground.

The cold pit was almost too damp to be useful, but she could work with it. Gwen discarded the oilcoth and arranged the kindling and logs in the driest part of the bit as best she could. She raised a hand to her mouth before mumbling an incantation, a tingle of aether and a burst of heat flitting across her palm before a small flame shimmered into existence. She tossed the ball of flames onto the waiting wood, deciding at the last second to nurture it with her aether to make sure it would burn despite the damp surroundings.

Once the flames had caught Gwen dug into the rucksack with both hands, pushing and shuffling the contents around until she found a pouch reeking of citrus and a sweet, medicinal tang. She pulled a few leaves from the pouch, deep green and oily to the touch despite being mostly dried out, and tossed them onto the burning wood. They quickly turned to ash, and the air was filled with a similar citrus-and-medicine smell. She hadn’t expected the scent to go acrid around the edges as the leaves vanished, but she was hardly surprised.

Gwen paused once she mounted the bottom step, peering up at the dark windows and closed door in search of any sign of movement.

Seeing nothing, she called, “Drest? It’s me, Gwen.”

No response, aside from a few of the weathered boards creaking..

Doubt started to rise again, twisting nervously in her stomach and making her hesitate a little longer. Was this a good idea? She’d only met Drest once, and it had been ages ago. But she’d done far more for people she didn’t know at all, hadn’t she? She fidgeted, shifted her weight, and glanced back out to the hill. She was very aware of the light weight of Duskfeather’s whistle on its chain under her shirt.

Well, she’d already called out to the man. She couldn’t just leave now, right? Gwen squared her shoulders and rallied her determination before she started climbing, tamping down the nervousness by concentrating on her feet, controlling her steps to make her approach audible but not intimidating.

The weathered door at the top of the stairs was slightly too small and hung at an odd angle in the frame. The largest gap at the top let out a faint, weak light that Gwen couldn’t see until she was a fulm from the door.

She knocked gently and waited, listening past the buzzing and chirping insects in the trees.

She heard fabric rustle and the hollow clink of glass bottles. Boards creaked, distant at first and then gradually closer until they stopped on the other side of the door. The hinges squeaked and ground in protest when the door shifted, the crack between it and the frame suddenly widening a few ilms.

A sliver of a tired, scarred and worried face peered at her through the narrow opening. She could barely see sunken, tired eyes hidden behind the dark glasses and a fringe of wild, wheat-colored hair.

Drest stared at her with palpable trepidation for a moment before the door opened slightly wider, showing more of his face. He didn’t visibly relax, but the tension in the air eased somewhat. “You,” he mumbled, grasping for recognition, “you. You’re the…you’re the Dalmascan.”

“By blood only,” Gwen corrected gently. “My parents were Dalmascan, but I was born in Ul’dah.”

He hesitated, gaze drifting for a moment before returning to her face. “Huh, ah, aye. Aye. Too young for Dalmasca…” His head lowered slightly, lips forming a few inaudible syllables and his hands fidgeting with his tattered shirt. 

She’d considered bringing him clothes, but she had no idea what size or type of clothing he needed, and had decided against it. She regretted that, just a little. Next time, she told herself. If there was a next time, anyway.

Drest was still mumbling to himself, eyes moving aimlessly and hands twitching nervously. Gwen wondered if he’d… forgotten she was there? 

Drest’s head suddenly snapped up, expression tinged with fear. His voice was tense and quivering when he spoke, the opening in the door narrowing to barely more than a slit. “What–what do you want? W-who sent you?”

“Nobody,” Gwen said quickly. She fought the urge to try and make a calming gesture or raise her hands and display they were empty, fearing he’d take it as aggression. Instead she spoke as gently as she could and maintained a calm, even expression, “Nobody, Drest. I thought of you and came to visit, that’s all.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Drest mumbled softly, his voice aching with something akin to despair. “I didn’t. I…didn’t?” He paused, turning slightly away as he tried to think, “Did I?”

“You didn’t. I came on my own.”

He opened his mouth, stopped, and audibly sniffed the air. “Smoke…? It’s odd. Why is it odd?”

“For the midges. The smell will keep them away,” Gwen said.

His expression shifted, though she wasn’t sure he looked happier. “The buzzing… can’t sleep with the buzzing.” He cocked his head to one side, “But it’s–it’s much quieter now.”

Her exhale carried a note of relief, “Then the herbs are working.”

“Herbs…”

“I brought you some,” Gwen fumbled on the word, “gifts.”

He blinked owlishly, the door still nearly closed.

“I…I was thinking maybe you could tell me about Dalmasca in exchange,” she said slowly. A lie, and she was terrible with lies, but her curiosity about her parents’ home was genuine enough. And maybe he’d think a visit with a reason or motive was more comforting than a spontaneous decision. “Or I could just– you could just have them. Really. You don’t–ah, I mean, you don’t have to talk to me. That’s okay. I understand.”

“Dalmasca,” Drest breathed the word, drawing back from the door. It was nearly dark inside. 

He was silent and still for so long Gwen started to wonder if he’d moved away from the door and she hadn’t heard it. 

His face appeared at the door, eyes distant behind his glasses “…Ex-exchange for what?”

Gwen cautiously reached for her pack, moving overly-slowly and not quite exaggerating the motions. “More herbs to burn, to keep the midges away. And,” she hesitated, “well, it’s not much, but I have some wine and food, too.”

Food. Technically it was, but few put food that was trail- and travel-ready in the same category as actual, regular food. But in her haste not to reconsider her decision she hadn’t thought of anything better that might survive the trip. Or anything else that could stand to be left out in the warm, muggy air for…well, however long it took Drest to eat it. If he ate it at all.

Anxiety had stiffness creeping up Gwen’s spine and into her shoulders as she produced the herb pouch first, turning slowly back to the door. She relaxed slightly when she saw he’d opened the door a few ilms, watching her carefully but not suspiciously. 

She held out the pouch, “For the fire. You only need to burn two or three leaves at a time, and they will help keep the bugs away.”

Drest stared at it, then at her, and then at it again. One hand rose cautiously, inside the safety of the door, like a starving stray animal that was scared to take food. His hand hovered for a moment, trembling, before he slowly, carefully reached out. =

He touched the bag and immediately recoiled, wincing as though it had bitten him. Gwen labored not to let a cringe or dismay touch her features, trying to be patient and understanding and nothing else. 

This wasn’t going anything like she’d hoped. Sh’d  thought a familiar presence might give a little ease or comfort to the distressed man, but clearly it did neither.

Drest reached out again, tentatively resting his fingertips on the bag. 

Her heart skipped a beat hopefully when he didn’t jerk away again. 

His fingertips slowly transitioned to his hand, and then he tightened his grip just enough to dimple the fabric.

Drest paused for another long moment before breathing a shaky sigh, visibly slumping, and pulling the pouch inside. “Keep the bugs away…Yes.” His furtive gaze flicked all over, from the pouch to her face to her surroundings. He held it to his chest, nodding, “Th…thank you.”

The tension that had Gwen standing ramrod straight cracked, threatening to send her slumping to the ground in relief. “You’re welcome.” 

She shrugged the rucksack off her shoulder and into her hands, offering it. She froze, elation fizzling immediately. Too fast. Moving way too fast. “I-if you’d have it, I mean. You don’t have to…I just– I just meant, ah… There’s a bit more, if you’d like it–if you want it, I mean. Um…”

Drest blinked slowly, the ease his expression fading to be replaced with confusion. He suddenly looked very tired. “W…why?”

“Because I…”

Gwen knew a tired face like his, though that one hadn’t had so many scars. And the eyes in that one had been the same green as hers. They had stared ahead, empty, hollow, tired, in a face that had forgotten not only how to smile, but do anything at all. The eyes and face of a man simply existing rather than living. A man who sat, resolutely blind and numb to the world as he waited out the time he’d been given, even as his young daughter and infant son stood at his knee and pleaded with him.

“I wanted,” the words came out slow, stilted, the sudden realization lodging like a rock in her throat, “I wanted to…help.”

That man and Drest weren’t the same, though. Drest hadn’t given up, though only barely. 

And she had sympathy for him, but not the other. 

Because children made to parent their parents came to resent them, and that poison was a bitter and long-festering one. Drest wasn’t her father, no matter how tired and haunted his eyes looked.

Perhaps that was due to age. She wasn’t so very little anymore. Age and experience had brought her a wealth of understanding, perspective and patience her child-self simply didn’t have.

Perhaps it was because she’d felt loss, too, and knew how devastating it could be. She’d experienced grief and mourning all her own, and she’d learned she handled it scarcely better than he had.

The years-old bitterness lingered, but new empathy had left a gaping hole in it.

But he was dead, and had been for years. And so was her little brother. And there was no helping or changing that.

Drest was alive. She could still help him, she could still make a difference. And in helping him, maybe she could… Maybe it would be good enough. 

Gwen coughed, clearing the lump in her throat, and offered the rucksack again. “I-I just wanted to help is all, Drest. It’s…it’s what the Warrior of Light is supposed to do.”

“I did, too,” he mumbled softly. He opened the door a little more and reached out, grasping the rucksack firmly with one hand. “I…” He glanced between her and the bag, vaguely guilty, “I can’t talk today. Not today.”

“Not today,” she agreed, blinking hard to stop the mounting stinging in her eyes and swallowing down the returning lump in her throat. “Can I–”

Drest nodded, withdrawing inside. “Come back. Some time…” He trailed off, whispering syllables and half-words she wasn’t meant to hear, then he added, “And we can…Yes. About Dalmasca.” He shifted slightly, towards the door, “Maybe you…maybe you can keep the others away, too.”   
  


Duskfeather’s whistle made high, clear sound, and as his clawed feet squelched into the earth Gwen realized she’d given Drest the rucksack. She looked down at her hands, only distantly registering that they were empty. 

She decided immediately to replace it. Perhaps before returning to the Rising Stones, though the hour was growing late.

Either way, Thancred would understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Does anyone else feel bad for Drest? I’ve been more than a little worried about him ever since you do those quests for him before Titan @_@ I’m glad they brought him back in Stormblood even though he’s not in a better way D: at least you give him a little comfort then?_
> 
> _Gwen is Dalmascan! TADAH_   
>  _Her parents were from Rabanastre, and paid almost every gil they owned to a smuggler to get them out of the country just days before the siege of the city. Some years later Gwen was born in Ul’dah. WOOOO_
> 
> _This didn’t quite go where/how I initially intended, but it was already getting long and I couldn’t figure out how to shorten it any way that I liked. This is probably getting a rewrite later._   
>  _Also it may or may not have been getting late._


	7. Childhood

Gwen tried not to wax philosophic about things very often. It normally that led to her getting too caught up in her own head, swept away by her thoughts and wrapped up in overthinking. Occasionally it could be enlightening or insightful, but usually it left her with a headache, a worsened mood, and anxieties about perceived past missteps tangling together with questions and second-guesses about others’ feelings and opinions, leaving her over-analyzing every detail she could remember about an interaction.

Despite that, watching the Mol children dashing about the Steppe had her thinking about childhood.

In technical terms she’d had one, just like every other person on that star. Everyone was a child once, though how long they were considered one, or considered themselves one, varied greatly.

For many, being a child was a light, easy thing, a time that was spent growing, observing and learning. Sometimes there would be responsibilities mixed in, like the Mol children gathering fuel for the fires or young nobles having to learn proper conduct, but for the most part that time of their lives was a simpler one than adulthood.

Sometimes people had to skip all of that entirely, having to go straight to being an adult as soon as they were able. Their live necessitated a pragmatic mind and realistic –often grim– outlook on the world. Maybe they skipped their childhood because they had take care of themselves for one reason or another. Most of the children in the Brume or the orphans in Ul’dah lived such lives.

By her own reckoning, Gwen had fallen from the first to the second before her fifth birthday, when her mother died. Taking care of baby Aifread and father (or the husk of him that was left after mother died) was exactly the sort of trial that turned a child into a ponze-sized adult, even rendering of her hair platinum and gray in the process. Taking care of them had served to prepare her for taking care of herself some four-odd summers later, the sickness that struck their home taking them while leaving. That sickness that still didn’t have a name, according to Mother Miounne.

There had been help, of course. Children had more options than adults. But Gwen had looked on Zezekuta, the orphanage and its helpers with a sort of hollow, aching anger woven through with a low, pitiful guilt. She didn’t  _want_  that place. She didn’t want to need it, either. 

Despite the heavy emptiness where her heart should have been, she didn’t want to be near others, nor did she want to take. Being close to someone meant she had someone to lose, didn’t it? And taking may well have been what landed her in such dire straights. 

But, when times grew too tough, they greeted her with open arms all the same. Eventually the ache had softened, and work and the happiness she could give others had started to fill the hole with something meaningful and long-lasting.

Gwen frowned out at the open air, eyes shifting from the distant ridges to the rolling plains. She picked out the shapes of the Mol children scampering about as they carried out their responsibilities.

But having a rough, lonely childhood didn’t mean she hadn’t had one at all.

And if it had been different she may not have wound up where she was. Even the smallest change could have meant the difference between doing or becoming something more mundane and becoming the Warrior of Light. If Gwen hadn’t grown up as she had she may not have become an adventurer, or met Thancred, or joined the Scions, or any of the hundred other things that led to her sitting on the grass of the Steppe right then.

She may have been more sure of her path in life. Words stated in desperation and anger rang through her ear, dredging up the questions and doubt they’d instilled.

Gwen started to tip backwards, intending to flop on the grass, but arrested the motion at the last moment, wavering awkwardly on her tailbone before returning to sitting properly. She was supposed to be keeping an eye out for possible threats because, quick as they were, the children didn’t stand much chance against the wildlife of the Steppe. She could hardly do that lying on her back staring at the sky.

Perhaps Gwen looked her life through a gritty and bitter lens, as even while living alone there were bright moments. Her time as a child may not have been pleasant, but it had been vital. She wouldn’t trade where it had lead her, to the Scions and to her role as Warrior of Light, for anything.

Gwen shook her head, pushing herself to her feet. Too much thinking and too much dwelling, if she had her journal she’d have filled a couple of pages by now. And with how scarce paper was, she needed to ration what she had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _BEING DEEP IS HARD._  
>  _IT’S SO HARD._  
>  _BUT I TRIED OK??_
> 
> _Also, self-sufficient orphan child trope GO_
> 
>  
> 
> _Doing a super questionable/bad job of actually having Gwen interact with people. Gotta work on that…_


	8. Violet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 4.0 + 4.5 spoilers! (pre 4.65)
> 
> Heavily related to "A Prelude in Violet" and the like

The Mor Dhonan sky was streaked with clouds, the dying light painting the sky shades of orange and purple. Specters of colors flickered in the air here and there, growing dim as the day faded and Gwen returned through the western gates. Revanent’s Toll was somehow more and less active since the Domans had set out for their homeland months ago, something Gwen hadn’t fully appreciated until she’d been able to linger in the old town for more than a day or two.

People went about their lives and work as normal, maybe working harder to replace the lost hands or bringing in new ones from out of town. It chaffed her if she let herself dwell on it for too long, most likely a reflection of her personal struggles and her own longing for ease. 

Possibly because Gwen could detect the gaps left behind. The places where the Doman Adventurer’s Guild used to gather and discuss their next plans, where Homei, Doware and the others would meet up and chat on their brief breaks. Even when others occupied the spaces in the passing weeks she felt a vague, distant sense of emptiness lingering there.

That hypersensitivity to absence and loss were what drove her to keep away from the Rising Stones and its infirmary for long hours. What sent her skittering awkwardly around the settlement and passing time elsewhere for as long as she could, rather than in Seventh Heaven or anywhere else where one might search for motive or meaning behind the frequency and length of her visits. Usually that meant spending time outside of the city, for the sake of not haunting the market stalls or Rowena’s House of Splendors and avoiding Slafborn, Coultunet, Hoary and the others.

Their concern was appreciated, even comforting, but at the same time it was too stifling. It was another thing looming over her thoughts, and while it served to galvanize her to keep trying, keep pushing forward, it also reminded her of everything that had gone wrong. Everything that was yet unfixed. Everything she had yet to fix.

But Gwen couldn’t avoid the place forever, and, despite the anxiety tying her stomach in knots and the weight of helplessness that grew a little heavier with each unsuccessful lead, she  _needed_ to be there. She wanted to be close, useless and frustrated as she may have been, because distance only made the pain of uncertainty worse, turning a hollow ache into a sharp blade that cut at her nerves.

The furthest she could bring herself to go under her own power was the Tangle, sometimes just to be away, sometimes on an errand or task she’d taken up to pass the time. And even then she was always glancing back, hope and concern mingling into a mass that consumed most of her thoughts. She still left regularly, Eorzea still needed it’s Warrior of Light, but she did so only at the will of others, and she never lingered long.

Maybe she would come back and her friends would be awake.   
Maybe she would come back and something far worse will have happened.

Everyone, in their own turn, had suggested she write in her journal. Because they all knew that was what she did to sort and order her thoughts, what she did to calm and console herself, what she did to be ready for whatever fate saw fit to throw at her next.

And she had. She’d filled three journals before she realized she’d been repeating the same things over and over, stuck in a loop like a malfunctioning Orchestron. She’d tried rereading her writing and found no way out, nothing that that inspired some sort of paradigm shift or offered her an answer when reexamined out of context. 

She’d thrown those journals away, saving a scant few pages, and the newest one had yet to be touched.

Twilight was slipping into full night, oranges nearly gone and purples fading to black, when Gwen finally shouldered the door to Seventh Heaven open. She hadn’t been sleeping well for the past week, and the sun was taking her energy with it. Gwen labored to maintain a neutral expression, not letting the weight of her worries show on her face as she moved across the bar. She wanted to hope for good news, but also tried to brace herself for nothing to have changed.

She caught Arya’s eye, and the grimace on the young girl’s face briefly had Gwen wondering if she wasn’t as skilled with her poker face as she’d thought. But then Arya’s posture drooped slightly, shoulders visibly slumping, before she shook her head.

Gwen suddenly understood. Arya still hadn’t gotten in contact with X’hrun, or come up with any new suggestions or leads for her and the remaining Scions to try.  
Warm affection bloomed in her chest, a much needed reprieve from the frustration she’d been stewing in, and she gave Arya a grateful smile. A smile that said she wasn’t upset or disappointed with the lack of news, and that she appreciated the effort.

Arya brightened, though was she still clearly dismayed that she hadn’t yet been able to provide any help, and turned back to her studying.

It was quiet in the Rising Stones, and empty in a way it had seldom been before. The front at the Ghimlyt dark was an ‘all hands on deck’ situation, just as the fight for Ala Mhigo had been, so at the very least this wasn’t the first time Gwen had seen the place practically deserted. But the knowledge of those who were present but asleep made the space seem hollow and uncomfortable.

Ephemie waved welcomingly from across the room. “Gwen! There you are. A letter arrived for you a few bells ago.”

“Hmm?” Gwen crossed to the bar, not listening to how loud her steps sounded in the quiet, and accepted the letter Ephemie produced from beneath the bartop. “From whom?”

“Not sure,” she replied with a shrug, “No name on it besides yours, and the post moogle wouldn’t share.”

Gwen needed only a glance at the looping script to recognize Aymeric’s handwriting. She felt simultaneously heartened that he’d written and glad to hear from him, a little excited that perhaps he’d have news to share, and distinctly nervous, dreading hearing his concern for her. He’d hide it all under overly proper wording and slant associations, unless he’d grown too worried, which was when he would speak more frankly, something that she appreciated but also made her feel distinctly guilty. She knew her friends cared for her, but a precise measure of their concern was something she dreaded knowing. .

She ducked her chin, “Thanks.” Further pleasantries and conversation dried up and crumbled on her tongue, and she merely gave Ephemie a smile before heading away. She could feel the woman’s concerned gaze following her as she headed in the direction of the infirmary.

The infirmary was uncomfortably quiet and still, a small light just barely keeping the darkness away. It was enough to illuminate the sleeping figures and the spaces between the beds, but no so bright that it would have woken them if they’d truly just been sleeping.

The occupants and their beds had been rearranged a week ago to make room for another friend. Now Alisaie slept quietly in a bed beside her brother’s.

Gwen moved to each of the Archons, resting her hand on one of theirs and giving a gentle squeeze.

“We’re still looking for answers. I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Uriangier. “I hope Alisaie is with you.”

“Matoya doesn’t seem so old as I thought all of a sudden. Still rather grumpy, though.” She imagined Y’shtola would have cracked a smile at that if she’d heard it

“I hope you’re with them. We were so far apart when…” Gwen squeezed Alphinaud’s hand firmly. “I think Krile’s got a few choice words about your decision to go off with the Imperials like that.”

“I’m going to have a long talk with you,” she affected mock sternness as she fixed Alisaie’s hair. “All this about me not leaving you, the promises, all the checkups with the linkpearl, and now…” She trailed off, screwing her mouth up to lock away the tightening in her throat and stinging in her eyes.

Gwen came to Thancred’s bed last, dropping gracelessly into the chair next to it. Someone, maybe Alianne, had left a blanket draped over it for her, and Gwen made a mental note to thank her later. She didn’t take it, it wasn’t that cold yet, but the gesture meant a lot.

She slid her hand under Thancred’s, threading their fingers together, and lifted it to lean her cheek against his knuckles. His hand was still warm, which offered paltry reassurance compared to the queasy ache of how limp it was in her grasp.

“I’m sorry this is all taking so long. Things have gotten so hectic… Riol’s still out in the field, he’s–they needed someone–ah…he’s filling in for you.“ A tired sigh slipped out, “I just need a little longer…Just a little more time. I’m still…I’m still looking. I wish I had something more to say, but I…”

Gwen willed him to react somehow, teetering on the edge between hoping and expecting him to squeeze her hand or open his eyes. She longed to hear his voice again, to hear him call her ‘dove’ or ‘darling’ or any of the other pet names he was so fond of, to hear some sort of quip about how she worried too much and didn’t sleep enough before he tried to coax her into a good morning kiss.

Instead he just slept, breathing steadily as he had been for weeks.

She sagged, propping herself up on the bed with her elbows and pressing her face into the back of his hand. She twisted her mouth in another grimace to try and keep herself in check. “I pray you’re safe and well, wherever you are. I think about you every day,” she whispered, pretending the words didn’t tremble as they passed her lips. “And the others, of course. I miss all of you and– I mean– I wanted to say…Please come back. Soon.” She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could, praying for some sort of reaction that didn’t come, her words tight and aching, “I miss you, love. I miss you so…so much…”

Deep purples slipped into full darkness without a sound, without a fuss.

Aymeric’s letter waited in Gwen’s other hand, not forgotten but not important– at least for the moment. She sat, leaning heavily on her elbows and sagging in her chair, drawing what comfort she could from the knowledge that Thancred was alive. Alive and here…but not.

Perhaps the Gubal Library would have something useful, or something that could point her in a new direction. Or she could try scrounging around Amdapor Keep. Maybe the tonberry of The Wanderer’s Palace would have some information about strange or forgotten afflictions, though she’d have to ask Isonne and her fairy to speak to them for her… 

Gwen heard a faint scratching sound before familiar nutkin scrambled up her back, taking the briefest second to peer at her face before cuddling up to the side of her neck. He let out the saddest squeak she’d ever heard, and she tilted her head to the side to lean her cheek on his soft fur. He missed them all, too.

The room was an uncomfortable sort of quiet, the kind that filled one with the urge to make some sort of sound to chase it away or just leave altogether.

Gwen couldn’t find the will to do either, and instead sat, glancing between all of her friends that were there but not. Bodies present, but their souls, their… _them_  utterly absent. She found herself wishing time and again that they’d wake, or somehow offer clue to a solution she clearly wasn’t finding. And when those didn’t work she tried wishing away the whole thing, wishing that had never happened at all.

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work either.

Gwen couldn’t bring herself to be much further from them, at least not more than she had to. But nothing felt worse than sitting there, surrounded by her loved ones, and being utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _It was getting too depressing so I added the nutkin and I regret nothing._  
>  _Little dude doesn’t show up enough in fanfiction. He is cute as fuck and has the power to brighten anyone’s day. 10/10 would snuggle a nutkin irl_
> 
>  _That’s Gwen’s thought process “If I concentrate on the thing and tunnel vision the thing and fix the thing then everything’ll be fine so FIX IT NOW NOW NOW”_ ~~and why she is very stress and anxiety~~ which is not at all what’s happening in current content  
>  _Oh wow lookit that I actually have something real hinting at who I pair my WoL with. (I think I mentioned it before somewhere else but it was like one line lol)_
> 
> _Also I didn’t see how I could not write about Prelude in Violet (or shortly thereafter) **because I’m literal and I take the easy road and Violet is in the fucking naaaaaame**_
> 
> _This made me sad and I want to hug Gwen now. I’m sorry, hun ;_;_
> 
> _I want the next patch as badly as she does_


	9. Ice

Her foot was under her one second and then it wasn’t, shooting forward without warning. Gwen’s heart leapt to her throat when she found herself abruptly off balance.

A surprised squeak passed her lips as she pitched back, trying to catch herself on her other leg.

Alphinaud turned back at the sound of distress, more confused than curious, his mouth already starting to form a question.

Her arms flew out gracelessly, another effort to counteract the sudden jumble of her balance.

But it was all for naught.

 _Aw hells…_  Gwen’s backside hit the hard earth with a  _thud_ she was sure all of Camp Dragonhead heard. Her teeth clacked together audibly and half-stifled another undignified squeak. The pain was immediate, jolting all the way to her shoulders and lingering as a vehement throbbing in her tailbone.

Alphinaud was still as a statue, staring at her with an expression of genuine shock as he worked to process what he’d just witnessed.

Perhaps he had never considered that the Warrior of Light, slayer of Primals, could be so easily bested by a patch of ice.

In his defense, she hadn’t either.

Gwen stayed rooted to the spot, picking up the thoughts the fall had knocked lose. Her face heated more and more as everything fell into place and she fully grasped that she’d  _slipped_ on a patch of  _ice._ She wondered how many of the knights and soldiers had seen her fall and immediately vowed not to look around and check. 

At the very least, no one was making a fuss. Maybe no one saw anything.

…Well, she could tell herself that, anyway.

Alphinaud’s wide-eyed stare suddenly eased, warming and brightening as his eyes eyes wrinkled at the corners.

An incensed glare coupled with the darkening red on her cheeks told Alphinaud to consider his next actions carefully.

Alphinaud prudently hid his mouth behind his hand as he struggled for his composure, coughing to suppress the beginnings of a laugh. He glanced elsewhere to avoid the indignation flooding out of her dark green eyes.

“Ah-hem, are you,” he coughed again, trying to expunge the distinct note of amusement, “are you alright Guinevere?”

She grumbled, mostly to herself, and staunchly refused to give in to the pout that tugged at her lips. Instead it came out in her words, “I’m not made for ice and snow.”

Alphinaud offered a hand, back in control of himself but for a wry grin. “You’ve overcome bigger obstacles, surely.”

Gwen waved his hand away, pushing herself to her feet and pointedly ignoring the shakiness of her legs. She rubbed her aching backside with a wince, her tone dry, “Well, let no one say I didn’t make a grand entrance.”

Alphinaud failed to hide his amusement behind his hand this time, and his laughter was a balm for her stinging pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _SCHADENFREUDE STRIKES AGAIN_
> 
> _also: When you have high Dex and roll a nat 1 on an Acrobatics check._
> 
> _I swear this was half the length but got the point across, and then I kept messing with it and now it’s this. Lolwoops._
> 
> _I don’t have a super hard timeline for most of Gwen’s stuff, but this mos def happened the first time she went to Camp Dragonhead._


	10. Empty

Gwen thumbed through her jurnal, feeling the worn edges of the paper and glancing over the pages as they flipped by. Every one was crowded with lines of text with the occasional sketch butting in here and there, no rhyme or reason to their arrangement and order. The steady rhythm of falling paper was occasionally interrupted by small gaps where she’d already removed pages, jagged stumps in the binding the only proof of the page that had once been there. 

This particular journal had only lasted six months before she’d managed to fill it. A new record.

The pages were a mess to read, some words and sentences marked through, some scratched out entirely, some left as they were and surrounded with little addendums and corrections.

Some of the pages were records and recounting of events and places coupled with poor sketches where words had failed. It wasn’t a perfect record by any means, but it was enough.

Others held streams of consciousness, where Gwen would sit and pour out her thoughts about all manner of things, from battles to overheard conversations to errands to the confusing emotions that seemed to always buzz around the mantle of the Warrior of Light. She used pen and paper to solidify and reorganize her thoughts, to put names and faces to her feelings and identify whatever plagued her so that she might better be able to understand and worked through it.

Gwen had consumed journals that way for almost as long as she could remember, filling pages with nonsense and disorganized thoughts and recorded events until they were spent, and buying another. It wasn’t the cheapest habit, no, but her mind was quieter and she could rest easier for it, so she made due. Early on she had gotten into the habit of tearing out and keeping whichever pages were most meaningful, the most important or impactful, and disposing of the rest. She squirreled those important pages away in an old book to keep them flat, occasionally allowing them to slip free and clutter her drawer when their meaningfulness had faded but she found herself unable to properly dispose of them.

She jealously guarded her journal and her saved pages, particularly when she was writing in the presence of others, and kept it in a locked drawer in her room. It was private, her own impressions of places and people and her own inner dialogue. She dreaded anyone seeing the more rambling pages, particularly whenever they took a darker turn. Sometimes she could barely stand to read them herself once the moment had passed and she’d settled her mind. 

Gwen had never really been  _secretive_  about her journal, per say, but she also didn’t make much of a habit of mentioning it. She didn’t hide the journals and paper she would semi-regularly buy, but she wouldn’t draw attention to them either. 

She apparently didn’t give the Scions enough credit, as was evidenced when they had celebrated her nameday, the first namday party she’d had since… She couldn’t even remember. Since she had been only four, maybe?

Having become aware of Gwen’s proclivity for consuming journals, Y’shtola had gifted her a reusable cover with the thought that she might save herself a bit of money. And a bit of heartache, as more than once her writings had fallen prey to the weather despite her best efforts. 

The cover was a simple but elegant binding of oiled leather with a pocket for a few pens and a simple length of soft leather to tie it shut. Cording along the spine that allowed her to tie in new sheafs of paper (or entirely new journals) whenever she’d spent her pages, and modestly flexible wood reinforcing the front and back gave it some rigidity and strength. 

Papalymo and Coultunet had made it a joint-effort gift by providing enchantments that they’d stitched and tattooed onto the inside of the covers themselves. The magic protected the leather against losing its waterproofing and made it more resistant to the wear and tear of the road, an additional enchantment on the binding providing the bound pages with modest protection should she –or  _someone–_  ever have the misfortune to drop it in a puddle or spill a drink on it. 

(Arenvald had paled a shade and sheepishly excused himself.)

Gwen had been too stunned to know what to do at first, overcome by the sudden swell of gratitude and affection that had filled her chest with giddy butterflies and plastered a wide smile on her face. 

Even now, a year after the fact, she had to pause and rub her eyes, suppressing the warmth she felt gathering there, and willed herself to finish her chore. The last thing she wanted was someone walking in and seeing the mess on the pages currently before her.

Gwen freed the spent sheaf of paper, setting it aside with care as though she worried it could shatter. Her gaze lingered on it and the ink sprawled across the topmost page as she set the new journal in the binding, considering flipping through it one more time to see if there were any more pages she wanted to save.

After a moment to think and a slow breath, she decided against it. She’d already taken the most useful bits and stored them in her drawer with the rest. 

Instead her forest green eyes returned to the new, clean pages. Her fingers looped and knotted the cords with practice eased, securely binding the fresh journal in place in a matter of seconds. Gwen thumbed through the new pages, white and untouched with crisp, pristine edges and briefly reminisced about the event she’d previously penned.

Then she turned her thoughts to more recent events. She laid the journal on her desk, smoothed the pages into place, and set about writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Useful gifts are the best gifts._
> 
> _I write too much sad/broody stuff, so I decided on this for the prompt rather than empty rooms or something like that._
> 
> _I’m tired, and this started easy then got hard @_@ (phrasing) BUT it’s done!_


	11. Ancestors

Malms vanished under the power of the  _Prima Vista_ ’s ceruleum engines at a rate that even the fastest of Eorzea’s smaller crafts could scarcely match. The lands of Doma and the Ruby Sea hadn’t exactly been familiar, but what little Gwen thought she recognized had long disappeared behind and beneath the large vessel by the time she’d woken early that morning.

Now, as she stood on the veranda at the fore of the huge vessel, she looked out on the Dalmascan desert. It reached out in all directions far beneath them, a sea of sand glowing gold in the morning light. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered Ramza and the pilots’ warning about Dalmasca’s unruly aether currents, but for the moment the sky was calm.

She was precariously motionless at the edge of the veranda, hands wrapped around the railing in order to keep them still and her bangs dancing all about her face. She was…antsy. It wasn’t the best word, but it was one that suited. And one that didn’t involve admitting to the visceral nervousness that was making her heart skip and stomach squirm.

Dalmasca. How much had the calamity changed it? Had the desert looked like this when her parents had fled their homeland nearly 30 years ago?

Gwen tightened her grip on the railing, leaning over the railing and staring hard into the oppressive brightness of the morning. Forest green eyes doggedly combed the horizon, restlessly searching for some sign of something other than the near-imperceptible motionless waves of sand. She hefted herself up without a thought in an effort to lean further forward, the railing pressing into her hips as she steadied her weight on her hands, feet dangling above the floor.

A few ilms didn’t seem to make a difference, the horizon remaining a featureless line of golden-tan meeting aqua blue. She tried to hold in a disappointed huff and failed miserably, the sound inspiring a slump in her shoulders.  
Gwen knew Rabanastre was out there, somewhere, ahead of them. And she knew they were proceeding apace, drawing closer with every minute.

But how much longer would it be before she could finally  _see_ it?

What did it look like? What was left after the Imperials laid siege to it? Or after the Calamity? How much of it was still standing? It resemble the pictures she’d seen in history books? How similar would it look to her parents’ vision of it? To the way it was on the day they had fled, escaping Rabanastre and Dalmasca both with the help of a smuggler they’d paid with nearly everything they’d owned?

Was their home still standing?

Gwen’s brow sank along with the corners of her mouth, her face pulling into a scowl.

It wasn’t like she’d be able to find it, even if it was. She didn’t have the faintest inkling of where her parents’ home had been, not to mention it had been more than twenty summers since the last time her mother had fondly described the grand city. And Gwen, as with most children of four, hadn’t cared to ask for specific details like addresses or street names. Her father had spoken precious little after her death, and not one utterance had been about his lost home.

Gwen considered the front of the ship and the jibboom that protruded like a great unicorn horn, considering trying to find her way out onto it.

“Guinevere! Are you mad?!” Shpoki’s exclamation made the red mage’s heart leap into her throat.

Gwen’s balance wavered briefly before she tipped herself back and her feet hit the deck, limbs shaking faintly from a sudden surge of adrenaline.

The Keeper was at her side a moment later, one hand holding her hat to her head and the other latching onto the back of Gwen’s coat and pulling as though trying to keep her grounded. “What do you think you’re doing, leaning out like that? Back inside, come on!”

“But I was just–” Gwen started, glancing ahead of the  _Prima Vista_  and finding the expansive desert still featureless.

“The pilot says we’re due for the skies to start ragin’ any minute,” Shpoki insisted, shifting her grip to Gwen’s wrist. “Inside!”

Gwen had half a mind to protest, but she’d hardly get to see Rabanastre if turbulence sent her toppling from the deck. With one last look to the horizon she reluctantly let Shpoki drag her back indoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _:D_
> 
> _I’m really happy with how this turned out, actually!!_
> 
> _Based on screenshots Dalmasca is south of The Burn (on the other side of its southern mountain ridge, actually) so I sorta guessed the flight path from Kugane based off of screenshots from the Oborne cutscenes._
> 
> _Yeeees. Gwen is first-generation Ul’dahn after her parents wound up there fleeing from the Empire. I think I decided on her being about 27-30ish and she was born a few years AFTER Dalmasca fell._
> 
> _As far as actual ancestors, etc. I wasn’t sure what to do outside of an All Saint’s Wake kind of deal, so I figured this would be just as good._


	12. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some actual Gwencred lol
> 
> Post 4.0

Cold registered first, sharp as it sank into her bones. Next the sensation of floating, suspended, in something thicker than air. It had to be water, though the inky blackness that greeted her when she opened her eyes almost had her believing otherwise. 

Gwen flailed her arms and legs, trying to swim. Which way was up?

A moment later her head broke a surface she didn’t know existed. The air was cool and clean, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Some sourceless disturbance made the water’s surface choppy but manageable.

Gwen kicked her legs to keep her head above the surface, sputtering water and craning her neck to look around. She was floating in some sort of vast lake or sea that extended out for miles every direction but in front of her. The ledge of the shore was just out of arm’s reach, barren and flat with a hard, sharp edge. Everything was illuminated by a soft, omnipresent twilight.

Something slender wrapped loosely around her ankle, hard and heavy like a chain. 

Gwen looked down only to find she couldn’t see through the opaque water. She flailed and kicked, trying to dislodge it.

She felt it move, coiling about her calve as it slithered up towards her knee. Fear stabbed through her, her blood surging with adrenaline and cold panic as she worked harder to shake herself free.

The chain clenched around her leg, so tightly it was almost painful.  

Gwen wasn’t a good swimmer, even with both legs, and she knew she wouldn’t stronger than whatever this was if she didn’t have something to hold on to. She had a bare moment to lunge for the shore before the chain hauled her down.

Her heart leaped to her throat as the dark water closed over her head and all light vanished, her arms and hands slapping the surface uselessly. Her mind reeled in circles and trying to come up with a plan besides panicked flailing, her blind kicks to the chain doing nothing to loosen it.

Her flailing hand hit something –something with fingers, another hand?– and she immediately clung to it with all her might. Hope redoubled the rush of adrenaline that was making her fingers and arms tingle, her other hand blindly latching onto the outstretched hand.

The chain kept pulling, tightening painfully on her leg, but it wasn’t stronger than her. It couldn’t pull her deeper.

Whoever grabbed her wasn’t helping much, though. They offered no assistance beyond a stable thing for her to cling to while she saved herself.

Gwen pulled, straining and kicking with all the might she could muster. Her chest burned, the effort using up what little breath her half-gasp had gotten her before she’d been submerged again.

This would be so much easier if whoever it was did  _something_  besides sit there. Clearly they weren’t struggling, so why weren’t they helping?

Gwen’s head barely broke the surface in a trough between two tiny waves. She sputtered when one washed over her before gasping in air while she could.

A figure crouched on the shore, stoically allowing her to cling to their hand and offering no further assistance. 

Gwen squinted at their face, recognition lost on her before suddenly snapping into place.

Wildred, wearing the bloody Crystal Braves uniform she’d found him in. Guilt lanced through her like a lightning strike. Her mouth crumpled in a weak grimace, teeth chattering noisily with cold.

She said his name, her mouth formed the shape, but no sound came out. He didn’t react, more a statue than a man as he stared at her. Stared  _through_  her. She tried again, throat straining with the effort to wring sound from it, her lips forming an apology.

Wildred shattered like fragile glass, turning to dust in her hands.

Gwen was under before she could think. Cold, black water flooded into her open mouth.

Her flailing hands caught another one, this one tiny like a child’s. Her head was spinning, instinct demanding she cough up the water in her throat while her half-formed senses refused, knowing she would only breath in more. 

Gwen hauled herself up again, barely, hacking up water.

This time it was a tiny figure, their small face covered by a leaf-shaped mask. Dark eyes peered expressionlessly at her, their little, three-fingered hand as still as Wildred’s had been. Noraxia.

Tears stung in her eyes, the Sylph’s last Echo flickering by her vision as her heart cracked. Remorse and grief twisted her expression into something pained and she felt bile in her throat.

Gwen tried to apologize, to speak at all. And the little Sylph shattered, too.

Over and over she would sink, submerged in drowning dark and cold, and she’d find a hand and cling to it. She couldn’t help it. Gwen couldn’t just let herself sink. Base instinct, fear and her will to live wouldn’t allow it.

And the chain always had just enough slack that she could pull herself up to barely break the surface. Just enough for her to cough up water and take the hard edge off the lightheadedness and the burning ache in her chest.

And there would be someone who’d died because of her, still as a statue and watching her struggle. They appeared from nowhere in order to give her the barest, feeble respite from her struggle.

Her voice never came, no matter how she tried to shout. And she could never apologize, because they shattered the moment she even tried.

Meffrid. Resistance fighters from Rhalgr’s Reach. The Brass Blades who’d been Tempered and put to death. A temple knight with a fog of similarly armored figures behind him, all of whom had trusted her, followed her, and died. A’aba, not nearly so brash and confident as he had been when she’d first met him in the Waking Sands. A heretic woman with her own following of people who’d only wanted peace,

 just as Gwen had…

Gwen didn’t know how long it went on, she had no way, or reason, to keep time. She lost count of how many people ‘helped’ her from the water. She didn’t mean to –didn’t  _want_  to– but her head was swimming and all cohesive thought was lost in a growing haze of dizziness. 

The brief gasps of air weren’t enough to do more than taunt, the burning strain in her chest and heaviness in her limbs growing steadily worse rather than lessening. 

Suddenly something plunged into the water after her. She heard it more than saw it. Then strong fingers clutched the collar of her coat, as rock-steady as the hands she’d been clinging to.

Relieved hope and fearful confusion tangled together in her head, her heart skipping and stuttering.

And then it shoved her lower. The chain pulled taut and dug into their leg, as if the hand wasn’t strong enough to keep her under by itself.

Gwen couldn’t see who it was, they were above and she was below and the water was black as pitch. 

She flailed, it was all she could do, but the frigid water sapped her strength as surely as her waning breath. Her struggles to claw at the hand or pry the fingers lose grew weaker by the second as her limbs turned to lead. 

The hand didn’t move, the chain didn’t let up. 

Gwen’s head spun, colors blotching in her vision as her panicked thoughts rapidly grew feeble and hazy. 

‘ _I need to breathe’_  fumbled through her head.

it was dimly followed by, ‘ _I can’t’._

Her lungs burned and her chest screamed, each beat of her heart heavy and almost spiteful. The chain biting into her leg felt far away and strange. Her arms were too heavy to move, floating uselessly.  

And then she couldn't’ feel anything but the heavy strain of her lungs begging for air. It consumed her focus, bearing down on her until she couldn’t think of anything but taking a desperate breath.

She didn’t have the will to hold it anymore.

Gwen opened her mouth, icy water rushing in–

A voice rang calmly in her ears. “Wake up, Gwen.”

—

Gwen jerked and gasped, eyes snapping open and arms flailing out, instinctively searching for–

A hand caught her wrist, “Gwen–” 

Her head turned sharply towards the noise, muscles pulling painfully in her neck.

Thancred. He was lying beside her, brows knit and lowered over his mismatched eyes as he peered through the darkness. He held her wrist loosely in one hand.

A fresh surge of dread sent her heart rattling around her ribcage, her whole body trembling with panic and the instinctive urge to run or swim or fight.

“I’m sorry!” The words scraped her throat, coming out choked and hoarse. Her lungs burned and her chest ached with the effort of gulping down air.

Her voice finally worked, but the apology–

She froze like a startled deer, eyes wide as she held her breath. Her teeth rattled deafeningly, obliterating the frantic words that tried to tumble past her lips.  _No, no, don’t, please don’t, not you too…_

Nothing happened. 

Thancred didn’t shatter. He didn’t vanish. Instead he laid there, staring at her in confusion. She felt the chain around her leg but it wasn’t pulling at her anymore. 

Gwen stared at him with an utter lack of comprehension, too confused to be relieved.

Her mind struggled to turn frazzled disorientation into something that made sense. Air was moving in and out of her mouth, she felt it on her tongue, but it wasn’t bringing any relief with it.

They were equal, she finally realized, which wasn’t how it should have been. They were lying beside one another, rather than her in water and him on shore.

There was no water or shore at all, in fact.

But the chain…?

Thancred’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic frown, her arm shaking so badly in his grasp that she was very nearly shaking  _him_. Her whole body was trembling,  every muscle jerking and twitching uncontrollably from the panic and cold. 

Cold? It wasn’t nearly so cold anymore, either. Suddenly her teeth stopped chattering.

Thancred shifted as though he intended to move closer and then stopped, thinking better of it. Instead he tightened his grip on her wrist briefly, a reassuring squeeze. His voice was low and soft in an effort to be calming, “It’s alright, Gwen. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

She tried, her shallow breaths coming out as shaky as the rest of her. They weren’t doing much beyond drying her tongue, but at least she was no longer so desperate for air.

Thancred lowered her hand, setting it carefully in the space between them. He pressed his fingertips to the underside of her wrist, watching her closely, “Look around.”

Gwen blinked hard. Nothing changed. Thancred was still there. They both were. She did as he asked, wincing at the sharp twinge in her neck as she shifted her head. 

Soft light leaked through a break in curtains on a nearby wall, piercing the darkness just enough to touch the shapes of furniture and the light-colored linens on the bed they were lying on. The covers had been kicked away, all except for a sheet that had gotten twisted up and tangled around one of her legs.

A sheet. A sheet, not a chain. And she wasn’t in water, and there was no shore, and, and… But how…? Had it– It had all been a dream?

“Do you know where we are?” Thancred’s voice was gentle and steady, his fingers against her pulse as he watched her struggle for comprehension.

Gwen swallowed thickly and her tongue stuck to her teeth. She glanced around the room again, her gaze skittishly avoiding Thancred. The veil of darkness altered otherwise familiar things, shadows deeper and edges indistinct, but she knew the shapes. She knew where she was: her room. More specifically, the room she’d been lent in the Royal Palace.

Threads of shame wove sharply through the haze in her head, her lips pressing into a line as wisps of heat gathered in her cheeks. But she’d felt the cold and…

Thancred was waiting, her pulse skipping and fluttering against his fingers. Concern was starting to edge into worry, his frown a little deeper and his eyes a little strained, but he didn’t try to rush her.

Gwen shifted her jaw slowly, her voice reluctant to fit in between shaking breaths. 

Something still felt off, as though she were still dreaming, but she wasn’t sure what or why. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the darkness was distorting everything around her. Perhaps it was because her mind was still off-balance and showed no signs of growing steadier.

Perhaps it had to do with the sensation of pressure on her leg that hadn’t lessened even after she’d woken. The chain had followed her out of her nightmare, gripping her leg and tethering her to it. It anchored the shattering faces and the burn of straining lungs, preventing her scattering thoughts from coming together. 

But she recognized the room, at least, though it barely offered any comfort. 

Gwen swallowed again, eyes sliding back to Thancred’s hand on her wrist. She gave a nod tiny enough to not aggravate her neck. 

Thancred’s expression softened, empathy helping him regain a measure of calm. He brushed his thumb back and forth along her arm, trying to soothe. He’d suffered enough nightmares of his own. He understood.

Gwen’s attention shifted down, to where the bed sheet was still thoroughly twisted around her leg. It wasn’t so heavy or hard as the chain that had been pulling her under, but it clung to her in the exact same fashion. She knew immediately that removing it could only bring relief.

She was still trembling as she pushed herself up. Her movements were unsteady and stiff as she pulled her hand from Thancred’s grasp. 

He didn’t protest, watching as she reached for the pale sheet. 

The fabric was damp to the touch, and Gwen belatedly realized her skin was clammy and her hair was plastered to her face and neck. The mild air of the room, quietly brittle and tense in her ears, was cool against her sweat-soaked skin and sent gooseflesh racing down her arms. She wrapped her shaking fingers around sheet and told herself she was shivering from the chill. 

Gwen couldn’t find the strength to do more than tug at her tether, the last dregs of the fight-or-flight adrenaline already faded and her energy going with them. Every part of her felt heavy and unwieldy, hands clumsy and thoughts sluggishly repeating ‘ _get it off’_. 

The sheet stayed in place. A thin sound of frustration slipped out with her exhale.

The bed shifted as Thancred moved. Before Gwen could lift her head he was beside her. His shoulder pressed against hers, warm and solid against her cooled skin. Her heart did an odd little skip in its unsteady rhythm, one that was lighter and a little warmer. 

His forehead nudged her temple, pale hair tickling her cheek.

She leaned her head against his automatically, almost instinctively, and she paused her feeble attempts to untangle herself. 

Thancred was real. She was awake. It had just been a dream. Her next breath was a little easier, though it still shook as it left.

He reached for her hands, nudging them aside, “Allow me.” 

Thancred deftly freed her leg in moments, fabric whispering against her skin as he drew the sheet away. He threw it over the foot of the bed without prompting, and a tangible measure of tension went with it.

Gwen’s shoulders sank on her next exhale, the fog in her head thinning without something physical to hold it in place. 

A dream. It had been terrible, twisted dream. And it was over. 

She leaned more heavily against him, grateful for his presence and support, both literal and figurative. 

His breath brushed her cheek, his nose nudging the mole at the corner of her eye, “Better?”

“Thank you.” It came out a whisper, her throat still tight. 

Thancred glanced between her face and her still-trembling hands, watching her brush unsteady fingers over the faint red marks that lingered where the tether had chafed her bare leg. Another frown tugged at his lips, accompanied by a muted, sympathetic hum.

His head lifted from hers, “Come here, dove,” and his arms slid around her waist.

Dove. The simple pet name was a comfort all its own, unabashedly fond while not appearing overtly or obscenely affectionate. 

Her heart did another little skip as he pulled her against his chest, the sharp beats stuttering into something more like giddy fluttering instead of panicked racing. Gwen closed her eyes and leaned into him, lifting her hands to rest on his chest so they’d finally stop shaking.

She focused on the little details, using tangible comforts to soothe away the incorporeal fears the nightmare had left behind. The scent of sandalwood soap. The shift in his muscles when he moved. The contrast between smooth skin and the texture of scars, like the one under her thumb

They stayed that way for a little while before Thancred made a quiet sound to get her attention. He shifted, caught her gaze and nodded vaguely towards the pillows. A question. Gwen mirrored the movement and leaned into him, not caring what he intended so long as he stayed close. 

He dragged her with him when he moved, and she went with him without a second thought. 

Thancred’s movements were steady and smooth despite the rigidity of her back and the lingering tremors in her shoulders, trying to instill a sense of calm in her by being calm himself. He folded her down to lay beside him, patient and easy, and tucked her head beneath his. They shifted a bit, shuffling and adjusting minorly for comfort’s sake. Gwen moved her shoulder, shifted her head, then pressed closer, his arm around her waist drawing her fully against him. 

Once they had settled and stilled they fell quiet. Silence reigned for the next few breaths, inhaling the warmth of his skin and breathing out bits and pieces of the knots that had her tied so stiffly. 

When a handful of breaths passed without interruption, Thancred released deep sigh. Gwen felt him relax under her hands, his breathing suddenly shifting to a slower, easier rhythm. The arm around her waist relaxed, losing the tinge of unease and tension she hadn’t noticed until it was gone. His other hand drifted to smooth her hair away from her face, another steady exhale feathering over the crown of her head.

Gwen felt the angles of his body against hers and the gentle strength in the arm that held her. She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the gentle touch of his calloused fingers skimming her ear as he tucked her hair back. He was  _real_. And he was  _there_  with her.

It had just been a nightmare, and the nightmare was  _over_. 

The backs of Thancred’s fingers brushed against her cheek, garnering her attention. “Breathe with me.”

Gwen did, a beat behind as she followed his slow inhale, holding it for a few stretched seconds before mimicking his controlled exhale. Her heart slowed a little more, tightly wound muscles starting to slacken and trembling subsiding into stillness.

Gwen didn’t pay attention to how long Thancred directed her breathing. It didn’t matter. Instead she concentrated on his closeness and the comfort and security of his presence. 

Time slid by without them, slow breaths softening tension and soothing nerves an onze at a time. 

By the time the last lingering strand of worry dissolved, Gwen was practically limp in Thancred’s arms. The ordeal had left her altogether more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed.

And yet sleep felt malms away, ghostly images and an ephemeral chill still lurking, just barely out of focus, at the edges of her thoughts. Her mind was calm and at peace now, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way when she drifted off into dreams again.

Thancred was still measuring his breaths, content to do so until Gwen gave some clear sign that she no longer needed it. He had passed the time in patient silence, fingertips carefully pressing and kneading her neck and shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the strain that had caused her earlier wince.

Gwen nestled closer with a muted, grateful hum, hiding her face against the crook of his neck. Her arms were weak and clumsy as they slid around him, the angles of his shoulder blades under her palms as she pressed her hands to his back. It was the closest she could get to properly embracing him just then, too drained for much else.

Thancred breathed another relieved sigh, and she felt him sag a little. “Are you well, dove?”

Gwen twitched her head in a nod. 

Lingering threads of embarrassment rose to the forefront of her mind and she halfheartedly chewed the corner of her lip. She had no doubt her nightmare had woken him, the only question was how.

One of her hands trailed up to bury in his hair, pale strands soft between her fingers. 

Had she screamed? Had the dozens of names she’d been unable to speak in her dreams been given voice in the waking world? Had she been rolling about? Or flailing? Well, flailing  _before_  he’d caught her wrist? 

Thancred didn’t offer any details, and Gwen didn’t ask.

It was far from the first time her nightmares had woken him, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Neither of them got enough rest in the first place, and it was more than a little aggravating to be the cause of more lost sleep.

Gwen couldn’t think of an adequate way to both thank him and apologize, anything more substantial than basic platitudes evading her weary mind. Instead she settled for pressing a kiss to his neck and used what few words she had, “Sorry. For all this.”

Gwen didn’t offer to talk about her nightmare, and Thancred didn’t ask. 

“You’ve naught to apologize for,” Thancred replied easily. He didn’t seem to have any intention of returning to sleep either.

She frowned, breathing a huff against this skin. “Aside from ruining your sleep.”

There were times that would have been playful, or a joke. That moment was not one of them.

Thancred’s embrace tightened, his hand sweeping up and down her back in smooth strokes. “After how often I’ve ruined yours, it’s only fair.”

His quip fell flat as well.  

Gwen searched for the energy to bicker with him, to inspire some levity or normalcy. Or a sense of normalcy that wasn’t so dour, at least. 

She couldn’t find it. Neither of them had much humor in them just then.

Instead she clumsily twined her legs with his in an effort to be closer, her fingers curling in his hair. The soft rumble of a chuckle in his chest was sweet to her ears, and he shifted obligingly so they could better fit together. 

The corners of Gwen’s mouth tugged up, reveling in the sound and letting the easy warmth and happiness of it fill her.

Sleep was out of her reach, but the whisper of Thancred’s breath through her hair and the press of his body against hers gave her hope that the rest of the night would at least be peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of times I've fucked with/edited this after I initially posted it is **so damn high**
> 
> From Tumblr:  
>  _I didn’t like the last story SO MUCH that I rewrote it. Yay!_  
>  _…instead of doing today’s prompt. OTL /cries_
> 
>  
> 
> _I’m another day behind on top of the other days I’m already behind, but I’ll keep going!! Maybe I’ll do two in one day… maybe._
> 
>  
> 
> _RIGHT WELL ANYWAY I LIKE THIS MORE AND IT FITS THE PROMPT WAY BETTER TOO._  
>  _NO RAGRETS_


	13. Sincerity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 2.0, pre 2.2  
> (takes place before Safety)

Gwen liked to think she was fairly unflappable, her natural courage and stubborn nature usually allowing her to hold her ground even in the most dire of situations. **  
**

And yet as she stood with Minfilia and Y’shtola by Thancred’s sickbed, she found herself wishing to be invisible and utterly unnoticed. She wanted to retreat into a corner and curl up in a ball. Or better yet, just disappear entirely.

Guilt and remorse simultaneously demanded she do opposite things. That she leave him be, but also apologize or beg forgiveness. To stay as far away as possible and just avoid interactions, but stay nearby and make sure he was well.

Seven hells, she’d been ready to kill him. She’d come disastrously close, even! Gwen was part of the reason he’d spent so long in the Phonistery, part of the reason he was mostly confined to his bed almost a week after returning to the Waking Sands.

Her gut twisted and she shifted her weight slightly, movements cautiously stiff so as not to make any noise and disrupt the easy conversation between the antecedent and rogue. Guilt was a crawling, prickly thing in her stomach and along her back. Remorse tightened her throat, preventing the nonsensical flurry of apologies and platitudes in her head from reaching her tongue.

She hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him at all, let alone try to kill him. By the Twelve, of course she hadn’t. It had taken every onze of will to muster the resolve in the moment, and even then it had been shaky at best.

But the Praetorium had had nothing to do with what she wanted, and everything to do with protecting Eorzea.

Gwen couldn’t put words to how happy she was that Thancred had survived. ‘Happy’ didn’t even begin to describe the dizzying relief and hope and elation that had replaced leaden dread when she’d pressed her fingers to his neck in the aftermath and found a pulse.

And now she was supposed to stand there and chitchat as though she hadn’t nearly killed him? As though it didn’t matter?

Everyone else was certainly acting as though that was the way of things.

Gwen hadn’t spoken with anyone about it beyond cursory, succinct explanations. He’d been possessed by Lahabrea. She’d defeated the Ultima weapon, fought him, and purged the Ascian. It had been terribly rough on him, but he’d survived. Then they’d escaped, of course.

And the Alliance Leaders and Scions had left it at that.

All but Minfilia, who’d cornered her one evening. Or, at the very least, Gwen had  _felt_ cornered with the woman blocking the only way out of the kitchen.

_She’d said gently, emphatically, “He would have done the same had your positions been reversed, you know. And he would have hated every moment of it as surely as you did.” She’d tilted her head to one side, smile gentle, sad and understanding, “‘Twere that the case, would you have found any fault with him or his actions?”_

_Gwen had shaken her head only reluctantly, mouth crumpling with a grimace._

_“Any of us would give our lives to protect Eorzea, and that goes doubly for Thancred.” Minfilia had laid a hand on Gwen’s arm, and it had been all the red mage could do not to flinch away. She was fine with comforting gestures when she was the one giving them, but it was utterly the opposite when she was on the receiving end. Not to mention Gwen hardly felt she deserved such a gentle, kind gesture... “He understands you did what you had to, that you acted only out of duty and necessity, and he won’t begrudge you for it.”  She had paused, “And he isn’t going to hold any of it, including his hurts, against you, if that is what troubles you so.”_

It was. Or, that was part of it, at least. And that Minfilia had known without the red mage having uttered a word had been both reassuring and slightly offputting. She liked to think she wasn’t so transparent, but it was rather obvious her nerves were shot when she’d picked and flaked her nails down to nubs.

“…I’ll see if they’ve yet arrived.” Gwen glanced up in time to see Y’shtola’s tail disappear through the door.

“Are you well?” Thancred asked.

Gwen turned back to find both his and Minfilia’s attention squarely on her. She stiffened despite her best efforts not to. “Hm?”

He offered a lopsided smile, “Tis a tragedy for a desert rose to look so wan.”

The feeble sound of her giggle could as easily be attributed to her natural bashfulness as the sudden surge of nervousness. “Wan? Me? No, no, I–”

“Antecedent?” Tataru’s head poked in the room, “Yda requires your aid, if you’ve a moment?”

Minfilia glanced from Gwen to Thancred, who waved her concern away. “We shan’t keep you.” He inclined his head towards Gwen, “You leave me in capable hands.”

Gwen had no reason to stop her and no reason to accompany her. So she had to stay. Her heart sank and she did her damndest to keep it off her face, simply nodding her acknowledgement. She focused on her posture, so she might not look as horrendously awkward as she felt, and stiffly lowered and loosened the set of her shoulders as Minfilia bid her farewells and departed.

And then they were alone.

Churning guilt nearly had her feeling ill, and her frustration with that fact served to help her scrounge up an onze of nerve. She felt cornered again, the restless spiral of half-formed sentences in her head preventing her from finding a plausible way to excuse herself. Not that the leaden weight of regret would allow her to go, no matter how much she may have wanted to.

Gwen spoke before Thancred could, “How do you feel?” She was grateful the words didn’t sound rushed, though she wasn’t sure how she’d managed it.

“Quite well.” Thancred’s tone bordered on jovial, which was a relief. He wasn’t angry or upset…at least not outwardly. “Particularly when I recall how very lucky I am to be alive.”

Lucky she hadn’t killed him, he meant. That hit her like a physical blow, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she visibly flinched or not.

“Sorry…” The word left on an exhale before she could find any others to bookend it, a cringe immediately tightening her expression.

Thancred didn’t bat an eye at the apology or the flinch, and she was grateful for it. Instead he laughed, laying a hand over his heart in mock affront. “Oh ho? That eager to be rid of me? You wound me, my dear.”

Gwen stiffened, abashed heat flooding her face, and for a moment panic and embarrassment overtook the regret that had her rooted to her spot, “Th-that’s not what I meant!”

Her fluster only served to make him laugh harder, genuine and warm. While it didn’t quite inspire her to do the same, his laughter did loosen the knot in her throat. Her next exhale took a measure of tension with it, and her posture softened a little more as the stiff hike of her shoulders eased. 

Gwen was sure her awkwardness was apparent enough already, and she knew hovering by the foot of his bed would do nothing to alleviate it. She didn’t need concern and questions her mind was too frazzled to answer, least of all from Thancred. Especially while he was still recovering from what she’d done to him. With that in mind she convinced her feet to move as his laughter faded, perching on the edge of the seat Minfilia had vacated. 

Silence settled between them, her eyes everywhere but the man she’d nearly killed, and Gwen wondered if either Minfilia or Y’shtola were going to come back. If they weren’t, she’d have to excuse herself somehow.

Thancred looked at her hands, curled into loose fists and resting on her knees, then at her shoulders, still high and rigid despite what she’d done to hold them more casually, and then at her face. She glanced at him, seeing his expression shift to something she couldn’t quite place.

Gwen stiffened when he took her hand, her meek protest taking the form of a wordless sound of confusion. Thancred lifted her hand to his face, peering intently at her fingertips and the short, jagged stumps of her nails. Her tenuous ease vanished under a wave of self-consciousness, the guilt that had brought her there following close behind it.

He spent a long moment considering the poor state of her normally well-maintained nails before glancing up at her, one brow arching questioningly. His expression was still as light and easy as ever, but there was a knowing weight in his eyes.

Gwen dropped her gaze, wanting to pull her hand away but not sure how to go about it.

“Is aught amiss, Gwen?” Thancred asked curiously.

She opened her mouth to reply and nothing came out. Apologies, explanations, excuses, pleas for understanding, heartfelt promises that she hadn’t  _wanted_  to hurt him, and pained assurances she’d leave him alone and never bother him again all jammed together on her tongue, strings of dialogue tangling into an unruly knot that wouldn’t fit past her teeth. The words ground together like broken gears as she shifted her jaw, silence hanging and stretching, waiting to be filled with a response. The air of expectation and the anxious pounding of her heart caused the knot to shrink, words breaking off and crumbling until only four were left on her tongue.

Gwen squeezed his hand weakly, warm in hers. “I’m…I’m glad you’re alright.” The knot in her throat and the dust of discarded words put a note of strain in her voice that made the words that much heavier.

Her painfully sincere tone gave him pause, Thancred’s smile fading slightly as he weighed the sound of her voice and the strain in her eyes. His easy expression returned in less than a blink, and he lifted her hand to brush a kiss against her knuckles, “And I have you to thank for it, of course. You saved my life.” One corner of his smile quirked up, turning into something teasing, a jest, “Though perhaps you could be persuaded to wait for a proper expression of gratitude until,” he motioned to himself and the bed, “I’m more myself?”

She was worse with flirting and affection than she was with comfort, and she imagined his jest was supposed to fluster her again, because maybe he thought that would help put her at ease. It didn’t. She was too frazzled and tired and raw for that. 

Gwen chuckled ruefully, her throat tying itself up again,  _Gods, I’m so sorry…_  and nodded. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _90% sure I lost the plot, but I was busy and really just wanted to get this out today._  
>  _I’M ALREADY BEHIND ENOUGH AND IT WAS LATE AND I WAS VERY OVER THIS PROMPT._
> 
> _Gwen feels like a giant pile of poop for being so ready/willing to kill someone she cared about, even though, at the time, she didn’t have much of a choice. Spoileralert:sheneverstopsfeelingbadforit_  
>  _Doublespoileralert:shehasthesameguiltproblemsThancreddoes_  
>  _AAAAANYWAY, yes! Still going!_
> 
> _So that whole “be less verbose” thing is pretty firmly in the toilet atm. Will work on that again._


	14. Chocolate

As a child sweets had been a rarity, an expensive luxury she couldn’t even hope afford. Confections and sweets were things Gwen would stare longingly at in a shop window before moving on, bleakly accepting they were something she wasn’t meant to have outside of rare occasions. Most of those said occasions were holidays, when the time of year and joyous and celebratory mood inspired camaraderie and spontaneous acts of charity amongst the citizens of Eorzea.

And in those instances the sweets had been cause for celebrations in and of themselves. They were what had made Starlight, Moonfire Faire All Saints’ Wake and all the other holidays in between that much more meaningful and special, like little points of brightness for her to look forward to as the years slid by.

As an adult Gwen found many deserts far too rich for more than a bite or two, her sweet tooth having long withered without a supply of sugar to sustain it. Fortunately Eorzea’s breadth of confections was nothing if not vast, and there were plenty of things that appealed to her milder tastes. And she always had friends who were more than happy to pick up the slack when a piece of cake or tart proved to be too much.

Her fellow Scions had been endlessly amused when Gwen had recounted the liquor-fueled whim that had resulted in her purchasing a large box of chocolates one Ul’dahn evening. 

They had been overly fanciful ‘artisanal’ chocolates, their extravagance reflected in both the wonderful decorations that had enticed her in the first place and their frankly outrageous price. Her hazy mind hadn’t cared, tossing the requisite gil on the counter and leaving with a overly fanciful box in-hand. 

She’d returned home and eaten the whole thing in less than a bell, not sparing the intricacies and nuances of flavor a second thought (much to any culinarian’s chagrin, no doubt). And she’d promptly gotten sick from it, her stomach violently rejecting the sudden overload of rich chocolate and decadent, sweet fillings. How much of the spontaneous sickness had been caused by the chocolates and how much had been the liquor was still up for debate.

Gwen had gone on believing the incident had forever spoiled her taste for chocolate, only to be proven wrong by a steaming mug of cocoa at Camp Dragonhead. 

The mug had been almost too hot in her chilled hands, the warmth welcome but harsh as it burned the frozen numbness from her fingers. The sweet scent had made her hesitate when it stirred hazy, drunken memories that made her stomach quiver. Despite that, the curling steam and the alluring promise of melting the ice from her bones had quickly enticed her to take a sip. 

She should have waited a little longer, as the rich liquid had been molten on her tongue. Her eyes had watered when she’d immediately forced it down her throat and felt the burn crawl all the way to her stomach before a subdued, pleasant warmth spread all the way to her fingers and toes.

She’d barely caught the flavor in her haste, a familiar richness ghosting across her tongue amidst the scalding heat. It had been sweet without being cloying, both smoothed and deepened by cinnamon and cream. The taste had been pleasant despite her initial trepidation, and she had given the drink a bit of time to cool before savoring every last drop.

Hot chocolate had been a regular indulgence ever since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was proud of this when I wrote it, and I'm still crazy proud of it now. ;A;
> 
> From Tumblr:  
>  _I’M WORKING ON IT. I’M CATCHING UP._
> 
> _Also, hey, look! I wrote a short thing! :D_
> 
> _I plan to post the next prompt today, too. But that one is definitely going to be looong again. As is my usual style._


	15. Love

They say ‘I love you’ with more than just words, though few others will recognize the gestures for what they are. **  
**

Thancred says it when they pass one another, each about their own business, and he walks closer to her than necessary so his arm can brush hers. That contact is fleeting, but it’s reassuring all the same. It’s an acknowledgement of their closeness, as brief as the touch, and an apology for their separate paths and the piled responsibilities that demand their attention. Sometimes it’s more, their fingers lingering together for a moment or two, but they invariably part too soon and continue on about their tasks.

He also says it when he reads her journal. Sometimes he steals glances as she scrawls her thoughts beside him, other times he sneaks into her room while she is away and reads the pages she has torn out and saved. Thancred doesn’t know how she’ll react if she ever learns how much he’s read in secret, but he’s certain it will involve disappointment and damaged trust. Or perhaps, maybe, it won’t… She typically shares her thoughts with him anyway, eventually, on her own time and at her own pace, but he knows she savors having privacy while she sorts them out herself first. Either way, he has firmly resolved to keep it hidden.  
And the insight those haphazard and rushed writings offer into the things she doesn’t share–her lingering guilt for her resolve to kill him at the Praetorium, the full extent of her despair when he and the Scions were lost, the pages of grief following Haurchefant’s death, the genuine fear and desperation she feels when she faces a Primal–help him understand the pieces of both the Warrior of Light and Guinevere that the world, and even he, rarely get to see. And when he understands he can say the right words, be in the right place, poke and prod the right thoughts into motion, and he can  _help_.

Thancred says it when Gwen startles him awake in the night with a frightened shout or pained gasp and he asks no questions as he draws her into his arms. When he lets her forget the nightmare that had woken her rather than seeking its details, mumbling assurances and dispelling whatever fears it inspired. When he simply holds her, letting her cling to him or just lay in his arms as she needs, and calms her breathing with his own. She doesn’t always go back to sleep, and neither does he, but he gives her peace of mind for the rest of the night, and that is what matters.

He says it when he finds moments to steal her away, sometimes an hour, sometimes a night, sometimes only minutes, and reminds her she’s as mortal as he is. When he pulls her into a shadowed alcove and kisses her breathless, or when they spend half the night twined together like ivy. When he holds her in his arms so she can feel small again, like a person rather than a living legend. When he helps her shed the mantle of Warrior of Light even for a little while so she can breath easier and feel desired for more than just her power.

Thancred says it when he apologizes for their mismatched assignments and the parts of their lives that don’t quite fit together, leaving gifts for her to find. Fragrant, bright bouquets, especially ones with purple flowers, or bits of poetry or rambling notes, or little sweets that would suit her milder tastes. Sometimes he leaves little trinkets or charms for the necklace he gave her that she never seems to be without. Little symbols to remind her that he’s thinking of her and laments the times where one of them is idle and waiting while the other is away and working. 

He says it when he seeks her out in the stables, where she retreats to be with Duskfeather so she can take a moment to be overwhelmed. Where she hides under her griffin’s wing and finds catharsis, letting tears flow or letting the weight of Eorzea crack her resolve in a moment of safety that she can better carry it when she recovers.  When he’s simply there, saying with his presence as much as anything else that it’s alright to feel like her burden is a monstrously heavy one that the can can never really share or set aside.

Thancred says it when he visits the two graves beside the remnants of an old shack outside of Gridania, unsurprised to find the plain, roughly hewn stones nearly consumed by the forest. He says it when he cleans the headstones with quiet reverence, pulling weeds and trimming back the encroaching plants. When he mumbles that Gwen is doing well to no one, because one of the departed might appreciate hearing it. He says it when he sets flowers on the graves, simple ones that she would have chosen, before he leaves.   
Gwen would be distraught to know the sorry state they were in, so instead he claims they were practically just as she’d left them: neat, cared for and remembered. He knows she’s keenly aware of the gulfs of time between her visits, but the demands of her numerous titles and responsibilities scarcely leave her a moment to sleep, nevermind taking the time for a personal errand. And that’s doubly true when she’s a whole world away in Doma.

He says it even when he isn’t there, his body lying still while his soul is elsewhere. He mumbles it like a prayer, hoping that Gwen can hear him, wherever she is…

—

Guinevere says it with small gestures, things that tell Thancred he’s in her thoughts no matter how much time has passed since they saw one another. When she brings him tea when she sees the light on in his room late into the night, providing unobtrusive company and a sounding board for theories and the occasional line of poetry (though he hasn’t called himself a bard in ages) until she dozes off in his bed. She says it when she sends him letters on her travels, scraps of newsprint and flyers and her own sketches tucked into the envelope so he might feel closer to her. She says in a smaller way when she adopts his nutkin as her own, caring for the little creature when Thancred can’t. 

She says it when she trusts him with her journal. She knows he reads some, and she knows it’s never too much. He skims pages, sometimes while she’s writing and sometimes while she’s gone, but he doesn’t delve through every word she scribbles. Nor does he hold any of her fumbling notions and half-formed thoughts against her. He uses his secretive snooping to better understand her, and for that she is privately grateful. Gwen, of all people, can’t blame another for their curiosity, but she appreciates that Thancred restrains himself…for the most part.

Gwen says it when one of his nightmares wakes her in the night and she pulls him back to the world of the waking with gentle touches and soothing whispers. She says it when she meets the lopsided smile and calm mask he puts on, the one he wears to keep his turmoil to himself, with sympathy and patient understanding. She gives him assurance with her steady gaze and embrace, tells him without words that not being whole isn’t the same as being broken, that he doesn’t need his mask. She says it when she holds him and helps him deal with his doubts, gently refuting his mumbles of self-blame and his lack of worth, carding her fingers through his hair until the nightmare and whatever negativity it stirred withers away.

She says it when she doesn’t question the way and steals into her room when he returns from an assignment, even in the middle of the night, or gently shakes her awake when she sleeps beside him. When she blearily lifts her head at the whisper of her name and peers at him through the dark, tamping out the flicker of annoyance at being woken at such an ungodly hour. He always gives her a charming smile when he apologizes for waking her, telling her he missed her  _so terribly_ he simply couldn’t wait till the morning to see her, or that he simply  _had_  to see her smile because dreams don’t do it justice.  
But she can see the shadow of worry in his eyes, the one that has lurked there ever since Ifrit, the one that only grew heavier after his decision to remain in Mor Dhona while she traveled to Gyr Abania to rally the Resistance. Rather than point it out, she twines she her arms about his neck as he clutches her close, murmuring how she’s glad to see him again and feeling the tension drain out of him as he listens to the beating of her heart.

Gwen says it with her smile when she sees him, small, fond and nearly bashful but unmistakably warm. Whatever doubts he may still have about his ‘worth’ or how he could ‘deserve’ someone like her are dispelled when her expression brightens at the sight of him. She tells him when she wears his necklace, when she fidgets with it as she thinks or when she’s nervous, easing excess energy with something he’d given her.   
She he tells him in the way she touches him. She’s never been good with tactile affection, yet with Thancred it’s an easy thing to slide her arms around him, to lace their fingers together, to lean her forehead against his. When they find themselves alone she’ll nudge his knee with hers and lean her head against his shoulder as easily as if it were natural. As easy as it is for everyone else who have known for years how to touch another and communicate the right thing. And when they’re in private she presses close without hesitation, curling her fingers in his hair and traces the shape of his jaw with her mouth. They can almost speak in touch, a lingering brush of the fingers or a nudge of her foot against his communicating volumes without so much as a sound.

She says it when she cares for him by taking care of herself. When she makes sure he sleeps by putting out the lights and pulling him to bed, and when she encourages him to eat by doing so herself. She says it when she nestles close and confides in him, and when he sleeps easier in her arms. When she finds ways to remind him not to fall into the habits the he and the others have tried to keep her from falling in to.

Gwen says it when he isn’t there, his body by her side and his hand in hers though is soul is elsewhere. She murmurs it against his knuckles and against his forehead, promising that she’ll find him and the others, and pleading with him to hold on and give her a little more time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Secrets aren’t always bad, mm’kay?_  
>  _They’re cute ;3; and they’re so problems. Very problems. Be healthier you two._
> 
> _So much for posting this yesterday /cough_   
>  _Ah well. Being behind doesn’t matter so long as I get it done, yeah?_
> 
> _Took a shot at writing in present tense this time. It felt particularly right for this. And I like to mix it up every now and then anyway. Sorry for mixed up tenses, as I’m sure there’s at least one._
> 
> _What’s that? Writing shorter things? Uhhh, no, I don’t recall saying I would try to do that >.> _


	16. Amethyst

Gwen’s eyes roved over the rough edges of the uncut gems in the box, none of them having so much as glimpsed a gemcrafter’s tools. Each of stone was simple in appearance, dull colors of the gems within peaking out from the confines of their raw, unassuming exteriors. When nothing jumped out at her, literally or otherwise, about which would best serve her purpose, she took a moment recall her lessons about magical foci. 

Thaumaturgy wanted metal and bone for their tools, while conjury tended to favor wood and branches. Refined were something of a ‘jack of all trades’ component, a suitable tool for most magical studies and employed by many magical schools. It was no surprise their flexibility meant they would suit a red mage, though their specific properties were slanted more towards thaumaturgy than conjury. 

The importance of one’s tools was a sensible concept, and a lesson she’d been taught at both the Thaumaturgist and Conjurer’s guilds. Though for all of the emphasis both guilds placed on varieties and strength of magical foci, they’d equipped their new recruit with a most rudimentary (and cost effective) stave and wand and told her to make the best of it.

It was X’hrun’s lackadaisical approach to choosing the gemstone for her first focus that had Gwen rather perplexed. 

He’d been quite diligent and regimented with their lessons until then. He’d been strict and precise as she learned to fence, and  careful with his words as he taught her the ways red magic differed from black and white. Not to mention how he’d been terribly precise with his instructions as they modified her casting techniques.

So when they’d arrived at the stall and he’d simply instructed Gwen to ‘pick whichever she liked’ she was left a little…lost. Surely there were factors she needed to consider?

Gwen glanced at the red-clad miquo’te in question, standing beside her and perusing the merchant’s other wares while she mulled over the choice of raw gemstones before her. “The gem doesn’t matter?”

“The gem does, the  _color_ does not,” X’hrun replied studiously. “Each variety of gemstone has its own unique traits to consider when crafted into a magical focus, something you’ll come understand with time and experience. But you needn’t yet concern yourself with such subtleties.” He gestured to the box, “All of these are equally suited for an apprentice of your yet-growing skill, thus the choice comes down to personal preference.”

Gwen considered the box again, eyes flitting between ruddy greens, milky whites and dusky yellows. Her ‘preference’ normally revolved around a blend of price and necessity, with color being almost invariably disregarded unless it was something truly nauseating.

Her drifting gaze paused on purple, the rich color made darker by its dull, unrefined exterior and the tinted shade of the stall’s awning. A second glance through the box proved it to be the only purple stone the merchant had.

“If that’s the case,” the gem proved heavy for its size as she pulled it from the box, slightly larger than her fist, “this one will be fine.”

X’hrun looked over the gemstone with mild interest, “An amethyst? Interesting choice. Very well, then.”

The asking price was fair enough, though the merchant was visibly disappointed they weren’t interested in purchasing anything else.

Gwen protested when X’hrun insisted on footing the bill. Her assortment of odd jobs wasn’t the most stable source of income, but it was more than enough to afford the gemstone for her focus.

“Tis tradition that a teacher furnishes their student with their first weapon,” he insisted. A tradition he conspicuously hadn’t mentioned until that very moment.

Though she wanted to argue, Gwen had learned better than look a gift Chocobo in the beak. She’d repay the kindness, she just needed to bide her time until the opportunity arose. “Thank you, X’hrun.”

He smiled, ears flicking happily, “Think nothing of it. Now then, to the Goldsmith’s guild!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Gwen still trying to L2RDM. In my head this takes place after Repetition, where I’d imagined she was learning the basics with a training sword. And once she got good X’hrun gave her a sword and outfit, like he does in-game when you do the RDM quest. (she’s probably level 11-12ish for this? ~~you can’t have a red mage that low in game /cough)~~_
> 
> _I’d written a bit about Gwen getting her first sword/gathering the materials to have it made a while back and decided to repurpose and refine it for this. And she’d picked an amethyst then, too! The amethyst is cannon!!!_
> 
> _Woo, getting to use old WIPs!_
> 
> _TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY HAHA_


	17. Boundaries

Gwen lingered by the war table after the meeting came to a close, the Alliance Leaders and their subordinates trickling away until she was the only one still at the sprawling map table. 

Her eyes roved over the painted lines of mountains and shaded green forests, jumping between the figurines for the Alliance and Garlean troops as she studied the details and craftsmanship of the map itself.

The various borders and boundaries were thicker than the other lines on the page, solid black margins that were unmistakable in their purpose. The lines cut through the upturned Vs of mountains as they separated the Lochs, the Peaks, and cut off both from the Ghimlyt Dark in the north.

The lines would change when they liberated the country, she realized. The borders and boundaries would shift when Ala Mhigo was freed. What would the maps look like then? How much would they change once everything was back to the way it once was?

She idly walked her fingers along the Lochs’ border, staring hard at the groups of figures and imagining each of them as scores of armed soldiers. 

Gwen had her own figure. She easily spied it amongst the Alliance Troops, hers more detailed and unique compared to the others laid out on the map. Someone had taken the liberty of adding a few pale streaks in its hair and a couple of dark red blots on the chest piece, making it that much more accurate and distinct. She suspected Alphinaud. 

It was a strange thing to consider precisely how valuable and vital she was to the war effort, as evidenced by the figure meant to represent her.  _Just_  her. It was something she’d been aware of but never really acknowledged or given much meaning, blithely allowing it to slip her notice until that moment as she stood at the table.

It would take her a while, and many pages, to parse out and untangle that revelation and whatever deeper meaning and perceptions she could draw out of it. At that moment, though, she didn’t have the time for her journal. It could wait, so she pushed it aside.

She turned her focus back to the map, big enough to cover the majority of one wall in her apartment. The little Gwen stand-in was placed amongst figurines colored to match the Alliance and Resistance troops, the mass of them all but blotting out Porta Praetoria at the border that marked the western edge of the Lochs.

Her fingers followed the border down and around the southern boundary of the map, shifting eastward until they hit the place labeled ‘The Ala Mhigan Quarter’.

The city proper and the majority of the map’s eastern edge were covered by a swarm of black Garlean figurines. A larger one, meant to be Zenos, stood in the center of the palace. His figurine looked rougher than the others and its paint was lumpy and uneven, petty abuse and efforts at defacement hastily covered with a fresh layer of black before it was put into use. She idly wondered how long it would take before someone damaged it again.

An expanse of dry lakebed and the wide pools of the lochs stood between the two forces, separating them as surely as any manmade barrier on the map and in real life. The space was veritable no-man’s-land, devoid of figures and troops alike, relatively featureless and bland both in its depiction and its reality. The puddles of blue on the map didn’t do justice to the sheer size of the vast, briny pools that gave a splash of color to the otherwise dreary lakebed.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the map rustling and her bangs dancing as the wind picked up. The blanket of clouds overhead was dark but not ominous, the threads of lightning that coursed through them promising a noisy rainstorm and nothing more. 

Gwen’s fingers skimmed over the map again feeling the texture of the painted features, the annotations and the smooth borders and the little notches and nicks from previous use.

The war council had adjourned, plans had been solidified and orders were being distributed. All that was left was to make ready and begin the fight.

And find Krile. An Alliance figure with a yellow ribbon tied about its head signified the missing Scion, placed amidst the mass of garlean figures in the city. ‘In the city’ was the first lead they’d had since her disappearance, but it wasn’t a terribly precise one.

Gwen closed her eyes, her mouth pressing into a thin line and nails digging into the thick vellum of the map.  _We’re coming, Krile…_

She wasn’t sure what she could do while the forces made ready, but she had no intention of sitting by and waiting for news. She swept her eyes over the map again, sending the Zenos figurine a derisive glare before pushing away from the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Bongocat for pointing out my oopsie!!
> 
> From Tumblr:  
>  _I think I did that thing again where I lost the plot then tried to fix it by throwing the prompt word around a lot. Questionably successful._  
>  _MEH it’s done and I don’t hate it!_  
>  _This may get rewritten anyway. Or I might write another one with a different setting. Ah well._


	18. Hunger

Preparations were nearly complete, plans and strategies had been solidified… What information Krile had shared had proved a minor setback, but factors had been considered and adjustments had been made by people who were far better at that sort of thing than Gwen could ever hope to be.  **  
**

In the end, the Alliance forces decided to take one more day to ready themselves, one more day to shore up defenses in the Ala Mhigan Quarter and evacuate who they could, one more day for their Doman Allies to reach them. Though they were ever at the ready in case the Garlean’s decided not to let them have it

“Naught left to do but the deed itself.” Raubahn had said it more to himself than her, but the words followed Gwen to the aetheryte.

Naught left to do. He hadn’t explicitly said so, but Gwen assumed she was free to do as she wanted for the night. After all, it wasn’t like there were pressing concerns or tasks that needed handling. And if she wasn’t needed elsewhere, she had a very good idea of what she wanted to do with the time she had.

Longing and distance had carved a hole in her chest during the months Gwen had been in Doma, one that had only been modestly eased by Thancred’s letters, few and far between thanks to his assignments behind enemy lines. The brief conversation and the squeeze of his hand at Castrum Meridianum weeks ago had only served to make her more keenly aware of his continued absence. She’d pushed those thoughts aside by throwing herself into her duties, vowing to be patient just a little longer.

They’d stolen a few minutes that morning, leaving Lyse and Alphinaud to wait for M’naago to locate her recruit while they found a modicum of privacy elsewhere. It hadn’t been enough, not by a long shot, but the hurried kisses, desperate touches and whispered assurances had at least served to ease the ache. And it was heartening to be so thoroughly reminded that he had missed her as badly as she had missed him.

Once the Wystan had been located they’d immediately set out to rescue Krile, working together for the first time in moons. And there had been no opportunity to catch their breath once they got moving. Time had been of the essence, and they had people relying on them, people they wouldn’t dare leave waiting for even a second longer than was absolutely necessary. 

Everything had come in a rush, things falling into place one after another like clockwork, until suddenly Thancred was staying in the Ala Mhigan Quarter with Arenvald and the Resistance fighters and Gwen was returning to Porta Praetoria with Alphinaud, Krile, Lyse and the captured Fordola.

They’d traded mutually disheartened-but-resigned looks and went about their ways. Duty first. Always. 

But now…Her duty was to fight, to win, but the fighting hadn’t started. And, ideally, wouldn’t for some few bells. Now was a time of patience, sitting on hands and taking rest and…waiting. And with nothing left to occupy her thoughts they returned to those few minutes, hidden away behind a stack of munitions crates. It hadn’t been long enough but was more than she’d had in months, and that brief taste had only served to redouble her thirst rather than quench it.

If she truly had naught to do but wait out the night, Gwen didn’t intend to do so alone.

 

Her stomach flipped and quivered nauseously when she materialized at her destination, planting a hand on the base of the Ala Mhigan Quarter’s aetheryte to steady herself and catch her breath.

“Gwen?” She lifted her head to see Arenvald only a handful of fulms away, a few Resistance fighters gathered around him in full griffin-themed armor.

Her stomach was still questionable, so she settled for lifting a hand in greeting.

He approached, curious and slightly apprehensive, which stung. Gwen did her best not to let it show, it wasn’t his fault she was so often the bearer of bad news. “News from the main host?”

“No.” Her heart fluttered and she tried to remember if she and Thancred were still making an effort to keep their relationship somewhat private. They hadn’t exactly discussed it recently…Well, either way, it wasn’t like she needed to share much at that moment, “No, just… personal business.”

The larger man breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sinking a few ilms, “Good. Though, being honest, I was almost hoping to hear something.”

Gwen smiled, understanding, “Not liking the wait?”

“Aye, but I keep telling myself we’re lucky to have the time,” he said with a sigh.

She glanced around, not spying white hair amongst the sparse crowd in the plaza. “Where is Thancred?”

Arenvald turned and to a tall building outside the square, a few stories higher than any other structure in the Ala Mhigan quarter. “Keeping an eye on Imperial activity up there, last I heard.” One hand dipped into his pocket and reappeared with a linkpearl, “I’ll let him know–”

“No, don’t,” Gwen said immediately. “I’ll tell him myself.” It was rare that she got to take Thancred by surprise. Wherever they were sent to the same place, be it by the Scions, Alliance leaders or rumors, he had usually been there for at least a full bell by the time she arrived, and he had a distinct knack for spotting her and appearing at her side before she even knew he was there.

Arenvald laughed and shrugged, slipping the linkpearl back in his pocket and leaving it at that. “Suit yourself. We’ll let him know if anything crops up.” He pointed to a street, “That one there’ll take you to where he’s at.”

She inclined her head, “Thanks.”

 

Gwen wouldn’t have been nearly so out of breath by the time she reached the top of the tower if she hadn’t practically run up all the flights of stairs. Or maybe she would, given that the quick skipping in her heart was half exertion and half barely-contained excitement. 

It had been months of nothing but letters, broken only with a few exchanged words and few stolen minutes, but now they had all night. Her whole body felt warmer at the thought, the surge of joy and relief upon seeing him that morning blooming in her chest again.

She took a moment to catch her breath at the base of the ladder that led up to the roof, the hatch at the top closed, and glanced back down the stairs. Some part of her was so sure something would happen, someone would come calling for one of them, her linkpearl would start chiming, something…

But luck smiled on her, and the stairwell was silent. She turned to the ladder and began climbing. Her heart did a happy skip as her hand pressed to the hatch, excitement and giddiness tickling in her chest like a swarm of butterflies. She laughed quietly at herself, reminded of a giddy schoolgirl, and attributed it to that phrase about absence and fondness.

The wooden trapdoor was hefty but not unreasonably so, hinges creaking softly as it lifted.

“Delivering news?” Thancred’s voice sounded amused, and her heart leaped to her throat as her head crested the top of the ladder. He sat some half-dozen yalms away on the flat roof, leaning an arm on the short parapet that ringed its edge. “You needn’t have scaled the tower, Arenvald has a–”

His voice caught in his throat when he saw her, surprise blending with confusion for half a second before his expression brightened. His voice changed, matching his pleased, hopeful smile, “Gwen?”

His smile and the way he’d been momentarily stunned when he laid eyes on her was a reaction she vowed to remember.

Gwen struggled for a sufficient reply, the tickling butterflies suddenly ecstatic and dancing frantically. It was like that morning all over again, and she was growing more keenly aware of the bells that had passed the closer they were. 

She relied on humor while she tried to get herself under control, “Not worried I’m bringing bad news?” Her voice sounded a little higher than normal, and she tried to attribute the slight breathlessness to her run up the stairs and climbing the ladder.

Thancred, recovered from the initial surprise, gave her a suave smile. “‘Tis a foolish bard that laments a visit from his muse.”

Her grin and the resulting bloom of pink on her cheeks made his smile widen. The trapdoor closed behind her with a heavy ‘thud’ that made her heart jump.

Gwen wasn’t sure what else to say, her mind less concerned with words and more with closing the hole that long months apart had created. They’d had nothing for months, and only the next best thing that morning. The bells before them felt both like all the time in the world and none at all.

Gwen started across the roof, suddenly expecting her linkpearl to ring or shouting to rise up from the square. 

From the way Thancred glanced over the edge of the roof and one hand hovered over one of his pockets, he thought the same thing. They truly had terrible luck on most occasions. 

Some small part at the back of her mind twinged, anticipation suddenly twisting into nervous uncertainty. Was he actually there? Was this real? Did they really have the night to themselves? Or was she merely dreaming, asleep in the fortress by herself?

Well. There was certainly one way to find out.

Gwen worried her fingers against the sash draped about her shoulders. Desires she’d been suppressing and ignoring for months swelled excitedly with each step she took. 

She almost forgot where she was or why they were on a roof, her head suddenly full of the thought of his voice getting lower and rougher, his mouth on hers, the fire in his eyes as he teased her with mellifluous words and a cocky smirk. She wanted to touch him again, to tell him everything that had happened, to bury her hands in his hair and kiss him senseless, she wanted to feel his hands on her and hear him say her name. 

Gwen simultaneously needed to move faster, to sprint across the distance and throw herself in his arms, and to try and show a little restraint, to savor the opportunity and time while they had it. 

She went with the latter, mostly because her head was so light and her knees were so weak she was sure she’d fall if she moved any faster. 

Months, and they were finally over. They had each other, and they had time. She ached for all the things she’d spent months yearning for; things she’d thought of when she’d roomed alone and muffled the whine of his name in her pillow while her legs shook; things that only the sense of urgency had forced out of her mind when they’d followed Wystan out of Porta Praetoria.

Gwen was drunk on anticipation and eagerness, light on her feet as though she were walking on clouds. She was sure the wind would blow her away if she wasn’t careful. 

She watched Thancred’s expression change as she drew closer, amusement at her fluster melting into eager anticipation. His gaze grew intense, drifting slowly over her and drinking in the way she moved as she walked towards him. He watched her like she was the only thing he could see, the only thing he wanted, absently stretching his hands.

Gwen’s thoughts sputtered to a stop. She wasn’t sure she still had knees.

Thancred flexed his hands again, drawing a slow breath as though steadying himself before finally getting to his feet. The look on his face sent a pleasant shiver dancing down her spine, a look that said he wanted nothing more than to make up for lost time and Twelve help whoever tried to stop him. 

His steps looked so much steadier than hers felt. Thancred’s expression shifted a little, “How much time do we have?”  

It was plainly the last thing he wanted to think about, but they were both well aware that duty didn’t care how much they missed one another.

We. Finally ‘we’ again.

“Tonight.” Gwen’s smile quirked, a little apologetic, a little shy, while her fingers worked anxiously against her sash, “It’s not enough after all these months but–”

“But it’s something,” he said, voice low and quiet, “And that’s more than I could have hoped for.” 

 _Oh Twelve…_  Gwen was more a bundle of excited, desperate energy than a person.

The waiting was finally over. 

Gwen lifted her hands to Thancred’s face as his found her waist. She was sure her fingers were trembling as they traced along his jaw, feeling warm skin, short beard and thin cloth. She reveled in the way his eye fluttered shut at her touch. 

His fingers curled in her clothes and pulled her against him, a pleased sigh slipping past his lips. 

The attempted slowness spoke of a half-considered notion to savor the time the had, but it was waning with every second.

Gwen leaned up and whispered, “I missed you,” before pressing her mouth to his.

And with that, the last of his patience snapped. They had all night, and Thancred wanted every last second of it as badly as she did. 

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and crushed his mouth against hers, stealing her breath and the last of her sense. Notions of restraint and savoring the moment vanished in an instant. She eagerly matched him, twining her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

No thinking. No worrying. Just feeling. Feeling the weight of his arms around her waist, the slide of his lips against hers and the wonderful rasp of his short beard against her skin. Feeling every ilm of her body sing, tingling with light and heat. Feeling like she would fall to pieces if it weren’t for the press of his body against hers.   

A soft sound passed from her mouth to his as she molded against him, pressing as close as her armor would allow. Thancred busied himself with unwinding her braid, as quickly and easily as he had months ago. He knotted his fingers in her hair and tugged just hard enough to earn another little sound, responding with a soft groan that made heat pool low in her stomach.

They barely moved when they parted, lips ghosting against one another as they shared panted breaths, unwilling to suffer any more distance even to breathe. Her lips ached, every puff of breath against them suffusing her with a little burst of electricity.

One thought, a smidgen of sense, poked through the heady mess of her brain.

“Is there,” the words came out a whisper as she curled her fingers in his shirt, “is there somewhere–?”

“Inside.” The strain in Thancred’s voice said it was an immense effort of will not to pull her down with him right there, “Down one floor, there’s a–”

Gwen stopped him with another kiss, stealing his words as her tongue curled around his. She spoke against his mouth, his teeth grazing her lips, “Show me.” 

Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest as she pulled away, teasing while desperate to still feel, to touch. His did the same, fingers dragging across her back and over her hips, lingering until she stepped towards the hatch. 

The ladder and one flight of stairs was all they had to traverse, and even then they barely made it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _ ~~I rewrote this literally 10 times between today and yesterday hnnngg~~_  
>  _I’M TERRIBLE AT CUTE THINGS THAT AREN’T CUDDLING. But I tried ;_;_  
>  _This is probably going to get rewritten too. One day._ BUT I DID IT AND POSTED IT ON TIME (ish) SO. YEAH.
> 
> _I’ve been editing it like a motherfucker all morning instead of working and I like it way more now!_


	19. Warmth

Gwen woke only reluctantly, blinking a few times at the familiar surroundings before she recognized her apartment. Getting an extra bell of sleep did not make waking up any easier, it seemed. **  
**

She crawled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, disregarding the sleepy mumble from her partner who yet refused to acknowledge the hour. The floor was cool under her feet and she made a mental note about getting more rugs, which was promptly forgotten when she stepped into the bathroom.

Steam quickly veiled the mirror and the narrow windows near the ceiling, the bathroom filling with the chorus of a soothing rainstorm. Gwen made a lackluster attempt to suppress a yawn as she stepped under the warm spray of her shower, the difference in temperatures inspiring a shudder. The warmth and the gentle pelting of droplets were as calming as the sound, replacing the waning warmth from her blankets.

The lingering heaviness of her eyelids told her the warmth was doing absolutely nothing to help her wake up, a habitual notion rising at the back of her mind that she should drop the temperature and shock herself awake. Few things got her moving in the morning like a cold shock.

She started to reach for the knob and stopped short, recalling that, for once, she didn’t need to be wide awake first thing in the morning. There were no pressing matters demanding her attention as soon as possible, nor were there any immediate, gnawing concerns to handle.

It was a proverbial ‘lazy day’, which happened so rarely she wasn’t entirely sure she knew what to do with the time. Something would probably crop up, as it always did. And if it didn’t, maybe she’d finally get around to cleaning her apartment, or some other mundane task that was regularly neglected in favor of more pressing matters.

Perhaps her lingering grogginess was her body’s way of suggesting she try to and make up for her habitual lack of sleep.

Gwen briefly considered the idea before letting it slip away, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes. She was already semi-awake, and she didn’t enjoy going to bed with wet hair. Instead she chose to savor the opportunity to have as slow of a morning as she pleased, which included remaining half-asleep in the shower for a while longer.

The bathroom door clicking shut was barely audible as Gwen finished rinsing floral-scented shampoo from her hair. Curiosity and confusion convinced her eyes to open, a pout pulling at her lips.

The recollection that she hadn’t slept alone was all that saved her from leaping out of her skin and throwing a punch when a hand grasped her waist. She still jerked ungracefully, a squeak of surprise slipping halfway from her mouth before she clamped her teeth over it.

Thancred chuckled behind her, a lazy sound that immediately soothed her frazzled nerves and sent a bashful flush crawling onto her cheeks.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, dove,” he mumbled, sounding as groggy as she had been a moment ago.

Gwen heaved a breath, heart rate slowing steadily,  “I thought you were asleep?”

Thancred hummed something to the affirmative, leaning into her and draping his arms around her waist. She wasn’t the only one having a lazy morning. He shifted to keep them both under the spray of the shower before pressing closer, arms hanging a little heavier as he rested his chin on her shoulder. He breathed a pleased sigh, eyes closed as though he was already drifting off to sleep again.

Seeing him so content stirred a new warmth in Gwen that had nothing to do with the shower, peaceful and calming as it spread from her fingers to her toes. It wasn’t an entirely new feeling, she’d experienced something similar years ago, but right then and there felt…different. Better. More sure, somehow. She stopped herself before she could get lost following that line of thought, choosing to enjoy the simple moment instead.

Gwen swayed into him, one arm hugging his more firmly against her and the other lifting so she could curve her hand around the back of his neck. “Good morning.”

Thancred’s hazel eyes opened halfway, a lazy smile curling his lips as she kissed his temple. He hummed again, pressing closer and lifting his mouth to hers, “It is, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _I like this one sooo much better than the last one! Though I still suck at fluff. FFFFFF_  
>  _I think I’m getting a little burnt out. These are definitely getting harder to write in the first place, let alone write well._  
>  _BUT I’LL PRESS ON._  
>  _ALSO LOOK ITS SHORT AND STUFF I DID IT_


	20. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3.5/Pre Stormblood

Gwen ached all over, her shoulders complaining whenever she moved them, her back bending and straightening with near audible protest and her stomach objecting to any use of her core muscles. She hadn’t taken the time to examine herself, but the lingering pain supported her suspicion that the impact of Papalymo’s spell and her subsequent collision with the Excelsior’s deck had left her sorely bruised. **  
**

And that wasn’t even counting the injuries from her battle with Ilberd.

At the moment, though, her own aches and pains only made her wonder about Thancred.

She had watched Yda pound her fists against his back to seemingly no effect as he bore her to the Excelsior, carrying out Papalymo’s request with grim resolve. But if those blows were anything like the ones Gwen had been dealt when she’d sparred with the monk, she was certain his unflinching acceptance of the assault had been an act.

Upon returning to Gridania Gwen was supposed to make haste to Nophica’s Altar. The Alliance leaders were reconvening to discuss the battle between Omega and Shinryu, of which she, Cid and the others knew only sparse details. She was supposed to be focused on the aftermath and figuring out what they were supposed to do after Ilberd so thoroughly forced their hand.

Instead Gwen asked Yda what had become of Thancred when she and Alphinaud returned to Mor Dhona without him, knowing he couldn’t teleport as they did. And Yda had answered, listless and distraced.

Mother Miounne was more than happy to provide the Warrior of Light with a spare key to one of The Roost’s many rooms.

Thancred’s head twitched when Gwen eased the door open, but he didn’t move or acknowledge her beyond that. 

She opened the door just enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind her. She stilled for a moment, looking over the rogue on the other side of the room. 

He sat on the far edge of the bed, staring out the window with his elbows propped on his knees. One hand was balled in a fist with the other clasped around it, looking equal parts a gesture of stifled anger and attempted calm. The brooding air about him was decidedly uninviting, rigidity and strain were evident in the slouch of his shoulders and the slight bow of his head. 

It wasn’t a good time. For anything, really, but her visit most of all. There were immediate and urgent concerns, ones that affected all of Eorzea and demanded –and deserved– Gwen’s full attention and focus. Thancred was in no mood for company or talking, and she wasn’t great for either just then.

Gwen’s thoughts were like sand, slipping through her fingers when she tried to handle them and unceremoniously shifting and tumbling at the slightest movement of her head. Her good sense was muffled and buried, nerves wearing thin with the friction. The weight of another friend’s death hung on her every movement, and it was only the frantic rush to activate Omega that had kept it from showing. Even then she’d nearly shouted at Nero more than once.

But there was one thing that held firm in her mind, one thing that she prayed would never change: the will to protect and care for those she had left.

Gwen moved to the unoccupied side of the bed, watching for any sign of reaction from Thancred. She’d go if she asked, though she desperately didn’t want to.

He didn’t seem to notice or care, though there was only so much she could glean from his back.

She didn’t speak as she crawled across the bed, nor when she leaned against him and rested her head between his shoulders. She smelled the faintest remnants of oil and smoke on his clothes, and she was sure she had smelled worse before Tataru had presented her with a new outfit. She absently tugged at the scarf about her shoulders.

Thancred took a slow breath, a steadying one, maybe, but that was all. She chose to take that as acceptance.

The silence was heavy but just shy of tense. She wasn’t sure if trying to break it would be better than letting it linger. It was easier to be silent, as Gwen had nothing to say.

They stayed like that for a little while, simply absorbing the closeness and drawing what assurance they could from it. She knew minutes were ticking by as she lingered, though she couldn’t rightly say how many. She was certain that she’d be well and truly late soon, even if she used Gridania’s aetheryte network to take her straight to the Altar’s doorstep.

Warrior of Light or not, tardiness to such a prestigious and vital gathering was inexcusable.

Gwen hardly spared the meeting a thought, instead turning her focus to Yda. The last minutes on the Wall replayed in her head with painful clarity, making her grimace. She rested a hand on Thancred’s back, trying to recall the precise impacts she’d witnessed. She slid her hand to his lower back and pressed gently with her fingertips, testing. When that garnered no reaction she shifted her hand and tried again.

Thancred suddenly tensed, sucking a breath through clenched teeth.

“Yda really hit you,” she mumbled, her surprise registering in her tone. She hadn’t thought he’d be unscathed, but she hadn’t expected him to be so hurt, either. Yda had genuinely  _beat_ him.

Thancred finally spoke, his tone dry, “You’re surprised.”

“Well, I…” She tried to pull words out of the shifting sands and string them together in a way that made sense, “I didn’t think she was acting, or… Yda just– It’s not that I– I just meant…” She exhaled, gave up, and settled for stating the obvious, “You’re hurt.”

Thancred sighed, and it spoke volumes. Mostly, though, it said ‘I deserve it’.

Gwen replied with a murmured incantation, healing magic warm and soothing against her palm as it sank into his back.

“They’re just bruises.” He shifted his shoulders in an attempt to shrug her off and glanced back to give her a meaningful look with his good eye, “You should see to your own hurts, as I’m sure you haven’t yet.”

“They’re just bruises,” she replied softly, draping her free arm around his waist and resting her hand in his lap. Her attempt to stay put was as listless as his attempt to dislodge her.

He didn’t argue again.

As her magic worked to mend bruised flesh and muscle, a bell tolled outside.

Gwen was well and truly late… And more than a little surprised no one had come looking for her, when she spared it a thought.

Thancred took her hand loosely in one of his and lifted it, brushing his thumb along hers. He leaned down a little and pressed his forehead into her palm. He breathed a sigh that carried a hint of gratitude and shook just a little at the end, and spoke no more.

Gwen pressed her face into the space between his shoulders and curled more tightly against his back.

Alphinaud could fill her in on whatever she missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _:D_
> 
> _Probably should have posted this yesterday, but I posted two one day sooooooo._
> 
> _Dat angst. Watched the very end of 3.5 again the other day and was like ;_;_
> 
> _I tried to keep it a little shorter. If I ever get into thoughts and feelings etc the writing just explodes. I definitely need to work on writing that sort of thing more succinctly._


	21. Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of 2.4

They’d been barreling through a profound example of Halone’s ire for more than a bell, and Gwen thanked every god but the Fury for Duskfeather. The griffin showed no signs of slowing as he doggedly bore her through the stinging haze, the dire weather forcing him to remain grounded and plow headlong through the mounting snow as they headed for Whitebrim.

Duskfeather didn’t complain, head bowed against the weather and feathery ears laid flat as he forged ahead. The griffin’s panting breath and leonine growls that accompanied his bounding strides were growing heavier by the minute and made it quite clear how hard the beast was pushing himself. But he, like his mistress, wouldn’t be deterred from getting out of the terrible weather as quickly as possible.

Gwen ducked low in her saddle, trusting her griffin’s keen senses to guide them through the driving snow. She told herself the exertion was keeping Duskfeather warm, at least. And she was more than a little jealous of it.

She blamed the sudden blizzard on Shiva.

“–and you should have waited!” Alphinaud’s shout was faintly staticy as it came over the linkpearl. “Even Lord Drillemont and the Lord Commander think you mad!”

Despite being shouted directly in her ear his words were scarcely louder than the wind and Duskfeather’s heavy footfalls. It was pure luck she’d thought to pluck the device from her pocket to call him, not hearing its incessant chiming until she’d nearly had it tucked in her ear. He’d been trying to contact her for almost half a bell to no avail, which went a long way to explaining his near frantic chastisement.

Gwen lifted a hand to the scarf wrapped about her face and tugged it down, thinking it would help her words come through more clearly. The wind immediately bit through her mostly-numbed skin and she jerked it back into place. “I’ve been called that before, by a lot of people,” she shouted back, wondering how much of the wind and her chattering teeth he could hear. “Even you, I think?”

In her defense the blizzard had been little more than a flurry when she’d set out from the Akh Afah Amphitheater. And trying to weather such a storm out in the wild hardly sounded like a good idea, given she had no experience surviving in such weather. Caves and the like could only provide so much and she was very, very sick of snow, ice and cold.

Not to mention the fact that her battle with Shiva hadn’t precisely gone smoothly.

“Guinevere,” He only used her full name in formal situations or when he was trying affect seriousness, like a parent scolding their child, ”even the Ishgardians are loathe to face Halone’s Fury, and they didn’t just battle a Primal! You need to take cover!”

“Compared to Shiva, this is nothing,” Gwen insisted stubbornly. “And battling a Primal is ice is precisely why I don’t want to stay out in this godsforsaken blizzard.”

She’d taken a beating, yes, but being able to keep her feet had allowed her to shrug it off in the moment. That moment was long past, and she was sure the wound in her side and the gashes all about her arms would be hurting a lot more if she could feel them. Instead her whole body ached and burned with cold, her arms and legs rigid and numb.

Thinking about it, perhaps that should have worried her more.

A frustrated, beleaguered groan came through the static. Her attempts at lifting the mood were failing spectacularly. Alphinaud was worried about her, with good reason, and a few witty quips wouldn’t change that. They never did, honestly, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

Gwen shook off the piling snow, burying her hands in Duskfeather’s coat where aquiline feathers transitioned to thick, feline fur. “I’ll be there soon, I promise. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, I’m concerned for your mental state!” He snapped irritably, which only stood to prove his worry.

Gwen wondered if he was alone and realized he must have been. Alphinaud was diligent about keeping a professional, diplomatic air about him in the presence of others, especially the Lord Commander, and to be so openly emotional was a sure sign he wasn’t in their company.

Alphinaud paused, gathering himself and briefly letting go of the fluster and indignation that he had been using to mute his concern, “I’ll see the chirurgeons have a bed prepared for you, then?”

A protest made it as far as her tongue before Gwen stopped it. She wanted to insist she could take care of herself, because she was perfectly capable of healing her minor injuries… after she’d thawed and had a bit of time to rest and regain her strength. But the more she thought about it and her rushed first aide, the more she knew her wounds would fare better if they were cared for sooner, rather than later. Help getting warm and avoiding frostbite would be good, too.

Her hesitation to reply was telling enough, but she finally said, “It certainly wouldn’t hurt. I would appreciate it.”

He made some sound to the affirmative. After a brief pause he spoke, tone suddenly businesslike and collected, “I’m keeping the line open.”  
“Yes, alright.”

“Lord Drillemont,” he clearly wasn’t speaking to her, “Guinevere is nearly returned. Are your healers–?” He stopped. When he spoke again his tone was wry, “Well enough to ride her griffin through the storm.”

Duskfeather let out a triumphant caw and she lifted her head. A gray shape loomed dead ahead, growing darker and more defined around the edges as his clawed feet thundered along the buried path.

“I can see the walls,” she called into the linkpearl.

She heard a flustered and frustrated groan, followed by a commotion of rustling fabric, “Well I’m heartened to know your bird doesn’t let something so minor as a blizzard stop him,” Alphinaud said, exasperated but plainly relieved.

As Gwen drew close enough to make out the closed gates she heard shouting, probably orders to open them.

Duskfeather didn’t give them the chance– nor did he give Gwen much warning. He leaped into the roiling wind with a screech, large wings unfurling and sending ice scattering. She felt her stomach get left behind.

The griffin’s ascent wasn’t exactly smooth, but he managed it well enough. His wingtips skimmed a knight’s helmet as he cleared the wall, sharply descending to the courtyard on the other side in a flurry of snow, ice and startled shouting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Not pictured: Gwen getting screamed at for flying through a blizzard, even though she didn’t, because Duskfeather’s wanted to look cool because griffins are proud fucks and his ego is big enough for both of them._
> 
> _On the plus side, maybe this makes up for falling on her ass the first time she visited Dragonhead._
> 
> _Guess how much of this I wrote at work this morning? ~~The answer is all of it.~~_
> 
> _This was really easy to write @_@ FINALLY. The last few prompts have been difficult, either because I didn’t have an idea or the one I did have wasn’t coming out the way I wanted it to._
> 
> _But this was easy and it came out nice! Yaaaay!_


	22. Whistling

“You just put your lips like this and,” Lyse pursed her lips in an ‘o’ shape and exhaled, a high, clear tone immediately piercing the air between them. They’d been sitting on the deck in the late afternoon sun for nearly an hour, and Gwen was no closer to being able to whistle than she had been that morning.

The Warrior of Light had many talents, but it was becoming more and more clear that whistling was not meant to be one of them. Lyse was undeterred, however. And Alisaie was merely along for the ride.

Gwen tried to emulate the monk, pursing her lips while leaving a small opening between them. She blew and was rewarded with the hollow sound of rushing air. She adjusted her embouchure and tried again, tensing her lips and angling her jaw, but to no avail.

Lyse shook her head, “No, no, tighter. You need to hold your lips tighter.” She made the ‘o’ shape again, pointing at the corners of her mouth for emphasis, “See? Like this.”

Alisaie added, “Wet them, too. It’s only more difficult if they’re dry.”

They were certainly that. The salty sea air was doing her skin no favors. Gwen ran her tongue over her lips and tried again, focusing on forming an ‘o’ shape while trying to ensure she tightened the corners of her mouth…whatever that meant. She was confident Lyse wouldn’t have a much better explanation than her own example, which thusfar had proved less than helpful, so she decided against asking.

When Gwen’s next attempt was equally fruitless, Lyse frowned, clearly perplexed, and Alisaie chuckled. Good naturedly, of course.

Gwen pouted all the same. She had thought whistling would be a simple enough thing to learn, yet somehow it was proving more difficult than her magic.

“You could try this, then?” Lyse tucked her pinkies into the corners of her mouth, pulling her lips tight before she whistled again.

This time the tone was high and piercing, making both red mages flinch with the the sharp volume.

Lyse offered a meek smile, “Ah, sorry. I forgot, that one’s loud.”

Gwen’s thoughts of learning to whistle had started to dwindle after the third failed lesson, but she dutifully tucked her pinkies into her mouth and tried. Her subsequent exhale somehow made even less noise than her previous attempts.

She sighed, affecting disappointment for Lyse’s sake. “I think I’m just not meant to whistle.”

“Well what if you try–” Lyse tucked the tips of her forefinger and thumb into the corners of her mouth and inhaled entirely too ominously.

Alisaie was quick to slap her hand away, “I like being able to hear, thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fine example of "phoning it in" lol...
> 
> From Tumblr:  
>  _…*cough*_  
>  _Hey, it’s something. Prompt got a thing written and posted, and isn’t that what this is about??? OTL_
> 
> _I wrote the first two paragraphs and then forgot about it for the rest of the day._
> 
> _Ah well, I said I wanted to write short things, didn’t I? >.> _


	23. Doppelganger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time during ARR, post Ifrit, pre Ultima Weapon.

It happened too fast.

One moment Gwen was standing there, talking to Thancred by the stables. He already had one foot out the proverbial door, as he seemed to every time she managed to catch him, but she was glad for the chance to at least chat for the first time in more than a week.

The next, Duskfeather lunged.

Even the gift of the Echo didn’t let her react as he shot past her in a snarling blur of dusty feathers and brown fur, tearing the reins from her hands and sending her to the ground.

Gwen’s elbows and knees hit Vesper Bay’s street none too gently, her shout equal parts pain and alarm. She bounced back to her feet as quickly as she could, heart in her throat and blood singing a panicked song in her ears.

Duskfeather had been on edge since she’d returned, but she she never imagined he would snap.

Gwen could only watch as Thancred dodged Duskfeather’s snapping beak and swiping claws with ilms to spare, dancing back a few yalms and out of the griffin’s range in the blink of an eye.

Seven hells, he’d lunged at Thancred!?

Duskfeather planted himself firmly between them, all aggression and challenge with his head lowered, ears pinned, feathers ruffled and wings raised, a dangerous growl bubbling from his beak.

Gwen shot forward and threw her arms around the griffin’s neck, planting her feet and pulling back like her strength was any match for his. “Duskfeather!”

Apparently the griffin was satisfied, however, or maybe finally listening to her, and didn’t try to pursue him.

“Thancred! Are you alright!?” Gwen hated how panic made her sound hysterical.

Thancred calmly brushed off his sleeves, as though dust on his clothes was his biggest concern. “Worry not, my friend, I’m quite well.” He eyed Duskfeather, his expression hardening and his frown sliding into something like a sneer. “And quite unwanted, it seems.”

“I’m–I’m sorry!” She stammered, still putting all her strength into pulling Duskfeather back. That wasn’t good enough. She knew it wasn’t. If he’d been any slower Duskfeather could have killed him, for gods’ sakes! But she didn’t know what else to do but apologize, and she couldn’t think of any other way to do that. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, I never thought he’d–”

“Pray don’t let it trouble you,” Thancred said, far too casually for someone who’d nearly been torn in half mere moments ago. “I’m unhurt. Though it’s quite apparent your bird no longer cares for me.” He eyed Duskfeather again, that hard look returning for a moment, “I shall give him a wide berth.”

Gwen’s knees and elbows were screaming, her heart still pounding against her ribcage. Apologies, excuses, explanations and more apologies whirled around her head at a thousand malms a second, none of them nearly sufficient enough to express the horror and guilt that were making her chest ache. “I’m so sorry…”

He shrugged, and the motion made the dark stone on his necklace glitter when it caught the light. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recalled it was a somewhat recent acquisition. “Don’t let it trouble you, my friend. My talents are more suited for people than animals, anyway.”

“If there’s any way I can make it up to you or–” Gwen trailed off, her face burning. She’d only succeeded in dragging Duskfeather back a few ilms, and while he was still posturing aggressively he seemed willing enough to be still if Thancred didn’t come any closer. “I just– I-I can’t apologize enough.”

“You have, I think. Worry not,” he said with a slight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I can think of few better cues to take my leave.”

Gwen merely nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line. She pretended not to notice the stares from onlookers and merchants as Thancred strolled away, Duskfeather growing calmer with every step he retreated.

Duskfeather placidly followed Gwen into the stables, mostly at his own pace despite her pulling on the reins with both hands in an attempt to more quickly scurry away from the disapproving stares all around them. 

Gwen was never going to hear the end of this. Not that she deserved to, if she was being honest with herself. And she was quite sure Thancred would now be taking steps to avoid her on top of being almost entirely absent in general. With good reason.

“Why are you acting like this!” Gwen snapped, throwing her hands in the air. Past tense would have been more appropriate, as Duskfeather had fully and utterly calmed once Thancred was out of sight.

Up until that point Duskfeather had been acting as though he were completely comfortable with all of the Scions, Thancred included. Not to mention he’d never acted so violently without provocation, which was why she hadn’t made a greater effort to deal with his agitation. Gwen couldn’t imagine the rogue doing anything to antagonize or harm her griffin, or any animal for that matter, it just didn’t fit. She couldn’t fathom why he would be so hostile towards Thancred.

Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache starting to bloom across her forehead. She should have just left. She should have just dragged Duskfeather out of town when he started acting so strangely instead of trying to talk him down and soothe him. She should have gone back out into the desert and let her griffin wear himself out and calm down.

At the very least it would have prevented a near-death experience, and she’d be facing his mysterious anger with a clear head.

“You attacked Thancred, Duskfeather! My friend! You were glaring and posturing at him like you thought, you thought–I don’t even know!” Gwen exclaimed jerking the door to his stall open. “You could have killed him!”

Duskfeather snorted, shaking out his head and neck and ruffling his feathers as though shaking off her scolding. He walked calmly past her into his pen and dutifully waited for her to remove his tack, head lifted unapologetically and feathered ears still angled slightly back.

He wasn’t acting remotely as proud or smug as he usually did when he thought he’d acted heroically. Rather the griffin had a terribly sober and stoic air about him.

Perhaps he regretted it…?

Gwen anxiously hoped so.

But she was still left wondering: Why had had he been so hostile towards Thancred in the first place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Who has two thumbs and rewrote this in its entirety three times today? THIS GIRL._  
>  _And I’m still only like 7ish/10 satisfied with it. Ah well._
> 
> _Duskfeather’s tryin’ to do a heckin’ good protec rn. Gwen should trust those animal instincts._
> 
> _Questionably related, griffins and hippogryphs are my favorite mythical animals ever (alongside dragons) so I was 1000 kinds of stoked to get one with my HW collector’s edition._


	24. Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sincerity, pre 2.2

It was the temperature that woke Thancred. The air was barely too cool for comfort, and the warm weight against his side wasn’t enough stave it off. 

His consciousness congealed slowly, details coming to him one at a time as he reluctantly got his mind working.

He’d slept upright. The ground was hard, and his rear was complaining about it. His back and neck were stiff from his position and the chill. His legs were asleep. Or maybe they were just cold. 

The urge to shift around and stretch away the unpleasant stiffness and all its little aches prodded at him. He put it off.

Thancred noticed the smells next. Moldy straw was the strongest. And then the unique musk of feathers. Something that smelled lightly of leather and flowers was there, too, but faint in comparison. 

He identified the scents and sensations easily enough, but they only served to make him confused. All of the odd details confirmed he hadn’t slept in his room.

He’d slept. The realization made him pause, sinking in rather than flitting by like the other little details.

He’d slept. And, despite the chill and his complaining back, it was the best sleep he’d had in weeks. He couldn’t remember his dreams, if he’d had any, but he also couldn’t remember any nightmares.

A peaceful night’s rest… After Lahabrea he’d thought such a thing beyond him.

Priorities. He could be relieved in a moment, first he needed to figure out where he was. 

Thancred lifted his head and leaned it the other way, immediately replacing the stiff ache with gratified relief. He raised a hand to clumsily rub some sleep out of his vision before blinking his eyes open. 

The shadows around him were deep and soft, clinging stubbornly in the corners and slowly fading away everywhere else. The pale light that barely illuminated the small room suggested the sun was only just rising. 

He wasn’t in a room, he realized, but a stall. A rather large one, at that. No wonder he was so cold, nights in Thanalan were deceptively cool compared to the blazing day. Once the sun was above the horizon the temperature would skyrocket, but the new dawn hadn’t yet brought much warmth.

Thancred had spent the night in the stables. Without a blanket, no less. What on Hydaelyn…?

He registered the sound of soft breathing and looked beside him.

Thancred barely managed to suppress a twitch of surprise when his searching gaze found Gwen. She was pressed close to his side, leaning against him with her head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder. Her closed eyes and easy breaths made it plain she was still asleep, not yet as affected by the cold as he had been. One of her hands was loosely curled around his, the pair resting on her knee.

Thacred blinked rapidly a few times, as though that would either change what he was seeing or provide him with an explanation.

It did neither

Little details leaped out at him, like the flowery scent in her hair, unbound and falling freely about her shoulders. The gray streaks that cut through the messy tumble of ash-brown had turned silvery after hours under the Thanalan sun, and her skin had darkened a few shades. Gwen had foregone her armor and traveling gear in favor of more comfortable, casual clothing. It suited her, but it didn’t fit her quite as well. Her nails were growing back, carefully maintained as they recovered from being anxiously chipped and picked down to nothing. 

She wasn’t adept at affectionate gestures like holding hands or cuddling, but tiredness had seemingly made her bolder. 

A shift on her other side alerted Thancred that he had a far more pressing –and possibly life-threatening– concerns. Specifically, Gwen’s fiercely protective mount. No wonder the stall was so big.

Duskfeather’s large form loomed on Gwen’s other side, curled snugly between her and the wall. His aquiline head was leaned against her leg, keen eyes closed and leonine tail tucked.  Deep breaths wheezed steadily in and out of his massive beak, uninterrupted by the rogue’s sudden shock. 

The immediate jolt of panic eased as Thancred realized the griffin was as soundly asleep as his mistress. The griffin’s feathered ears hadn’t so much as twitched. The rogue was safe.

Thancred relaxed a little and tried twice as hard not to make a sound. 

He’d slept in the stables. With Gwen.

Now that he’d somewhat gotten his bearings back, he knew he was rather stuck. He couldn’t find the will to wake Gwen when she was sleeping so peacefully, nor did he want to risk waking Duskfeather, should the griffin’s gracious mood have soured overnight.

So he was stuck there, which meant he had plenty of time to be utterly confused.

When had Gwen returned to Vesper Bay? When had he gotten to the stables? Why had Duskfeather not objected to his presence?

Thancred rubbed his forehead with his free hand, casting his mind back in search of answers.

—

The previous day had been a trying one, he recalled. But that didn’t mean much. All of them had been trying, in one way or another, since Gwen had purged Lahabrea most of two months ago.

Thancred’s physical wounds were healed and the lingering aches had finally faded. He was growing stronger, regaining strength and mental fortitude that had been neglected for so very long. He’d again be fit for duty soon…theoretically. Things were returning to normal.

After snooping through her journal Thancred had finally learned why Gwen had been skittish as a hare around him. That it was something so well-intentioned and unnecessary as guilt, rather than something more visceral like hatred or distrust, had been a relief. 

When Gwen had eventually offered stumbling but genuine apologies for her battle with Lahabrea and the damage it had done, Thancred had replied with playfulness and teasing. His irreverent jibes and guileless rebuffs did nothing but frustrate her, as he’d hoped, and soon enough they’d started bickering. There had been a little sparkle in her eyes when she’d finally tossed up her hands and declared she was giving up.

With her needless guilt assuaged, Gwen no longer blanched at the thought of being in the same room as him. And when she was her normal, shy self again, the entire Waking Sands seemed to breathe a little easier. 

And that was where the positives ended.

No amount of reassurances or improved health would change the fact that the Scions were moving to Revenant’s Toll. Alphinaud could insist the move was a purely political and strategic one all he wanted, but they all knew the underlying cause: The Waking Sands wasn’t safe. It hadn’t been since Lahabrea had handed Thancred’s knowledge over to Gaius and his legion. 

The months Thancred had been a prisoner in his own body clung to him as surely as his shadow and harried him like a sickness. His physical wounds were healed, but the mental ones yet festered and they showed no signs of improving.

The endless hours he’d endured watching Lahabrea traipsing among his friends were as clear and torturous as they had been in the moment. And now, same as then, he couldn’t escape them for long. 

When Thancred was awake the memories lurked at the edges of his thoughts, only slipping out of focus when he threw himself into a task. In sleep they plagued him as nightmares, replaying over and over and occasionally twisting into dark ‘what if’s to further taunt him.

Drink helped to settle it sometimes, sometimes it could even numb the nightmares enough to make a difference. But the looks he got from his friends on his second or third glass were unwanted and only served to worsen his already poor mood. Occasionally a combination of the two managed stir up some deeply-buried bitterness about it was  _a little bit late, don’t you think?_ to be paying attention to his state.  

Worse still were the sparse moments when Thancred’s body would suddenly feel off, a strange tingle skittering up his back or a uneasy weakness twinging at his muscles out of nowhere. The surge of terror such moments inspired was all but paralyzing, and the heavy doubt that immediately followed was nearly suffocating. He’d be left disquieted and off balance for bells, even after he twitched his fingers and purposefully moved about to demonstrate, for none but himself, that he was still in control, that his body and will were wholly his again. 

Every aspect of regular life, from keeping his stride light and his posture casual to maintaining a charming –or at least pleasant– expression to trying to perpetuate a reasonable mood, required more concentration than it should have. And so many minor things, small talk, paperwork, even just caring for himself, took far too much out of him.

He had to manage a thousand moving parts at any given moment to be himself, to just get through the day, rather than everything simply  _happening_ like it used to. He was growing stronger, getting healthier, yet so very often he was all but spent by midday. 

Thancred’s self-afflicted lack of sleep certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. He didn’t try to deny it. But to sleep was to invite nightmares, and he’d suffered more than enough of them already. Besides, sleep inevitably found him no matter what he did. He saw no reason to subject himself to it more than absolutely necessary.

And then there was last night. Last night…

_Thancred recalled jerking awake in the dead of night. He had bodily ripped himself from the sound of cruel laughter in his ear, a nauseating crawling sensation on his back and the sight of his hands–but not his hands–wielding his daggers._

_In the brief panic upon waking he’d banished the rest of the details, refusing to think about them. Instead he’d focused all the energy he could muster on getting control of himself, grappling with his breaths until they’d evened out._

_He’d been in his room, which had thrown him for longer than it should have. Because last he could recall he’d been in the library with Y’shtola, Papalymo and Uriangier, chatting and… And clearly he’d been put to bed by one of them while he’d been dozing and couldn’t argue._

_Thancred had grit his teeth over frustrated cursing and resolutely ignored the complaints of his body as he threw away the sheets and got out of bed. He had decided to weather the rest of the night with the aid of tea and busywork, as had become his habit._

_He may have slept, but it hadn’t been for long, and it had been anything but restful. A haze of fatigue had clung to him like a wet blanket as he struggled into fresh clothes, insolently demanding rest. The fatigue had tried to urge him back into bed, tempting him to lie down and let his eyes close again for just a little while longer. More sleep, even so little as another bell, would have provided some relief from the weight of exhaustion that had been crushing him for days._

_Yes, of course, he should just submit himself to a fresh round of nightmares while cruel laughter and the feeling of puppeted hands still twisted at the edges of his thoughts. That would definitely be_ helpful _, because wasn’t he feeling better after a bit of a nap?_

_Thancred had scoffed and bitterly muttered, “Like hell,” as he jerked his shoes on._

_Part of him had been so very hackled up he’d almost wanted to find the three and give them a piece of his mind. Not that he had had any real outcome in mind besides sharp words and a bit of yelling. But even his addled mind had known that idea to be a stupid and fruitless one, so he hadn’t spared it more than a passing consideration._

_His head had been full of cotton as he stumbled to his door in the dark, a headache born of exhaustion, frustration and stress starting to form behind his eyes.  Thancred had resolutely stomped out of his room, ignoring the heaviness in his limbs as best he could. Anger and annoyance were a fine fuel, but they wouldn’t last forever. He had wanted to put distance between himself and his bed while could. Ideally he’d also find something to occupy himself with until he had the piercing light of day to help keep him conscious._

_The sour turnings of Thancred’s thoughts had been interrupted when he made his way into the main corridor and found Gwen._

_The sight of her had taken him so by surprise he’d nearly tripped over his own feet, his train of thought scattering in an instant and leaving him off balance. He’d been confused, as he’d thought she was away on some assignment or another, but pleased to see her._

_For a moment he’d wondered if she was actually there, or if he’d become so truly sleep deprived he was starting to hallucinate._

_Gwen had been equally surprised to see him, thinking she was the only one up at that hour. “Good–-evening? Morning?” She’d hesitated, letting out a chuckle that sounded tired, “I’m…not sure what time it is.”_

_“What say we settle for ‘too early for either of us to be awake’?” he’d replied automatically, surprised by the lightness of his tone._

_And she’d smiled. And he’d felt a little better._

_In the wake of the Praetorium Thancred had found her presence gave him an intangible sense of security he’d been sorely missing. He had never spent much time wondering why, content with clinging to his eased mood while it lasted._

_Maybe it was because she’d saved him when he was so sure he was beyond saving. It made sense that he would come to think of his savior as something of a symbol of hope and safety. She’d banished the darkness, literally and figuratively, and Lahabrea hadn’t stood a chance. And she was ready, willing and able to achieve such impossible feats again at a moment’s notice._

_Maybe it had something to do with the fact he’d been fond of her before that whole gods-begotten mess, and that she no longer blanched at being in the same room had eased some of the weight he was carrying. They hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time together, no, but it had been long enough to gain and hold at least a bit of interest. Long enough to matter._

_Maybe it was because Thancred’s old self didn’t feel so far away when he could still get her flustered like he used to.  He didn’t quite want to be his old self, though. That was the one who had gotten into all of this, after all. But he did want…parts of it. The good parts, like flirting as easily as he breathed, or being a dependable and trustworthy friend, or making whatever fair maiden struck his fancy laugh, or regaining that passive, easy calm he’d been missing._

_Thancred had shoved all that aside and plastered on his usual smile, dredging up the energy for a bit of small talk. He’d gamely acted as though he wasn’t dead tired after a week of little and less rest, and he’d done his best not to show that he’d just been ripped from sleep._

_Mostly because he’d had to, he had an act to maintain, but partially, just a little, because he’d wanted to._

_The way Gwen had looked at him and studied his face in the dim light had made it plain enough he wasn’t fooling her._

_Thancred had made a joke about the phrasing at the time, but Yda’s statement that Gwen had ‘loud eyes’ had been utterly accurate._

_Those green eyes had been warm with concern that had irked him to see, and yet was so endearing he couldn’t let himself be annoyed by it. She worried about everyone, so of course she’d worry about him, too. That was just how she worked._

_Gwen hadn’t asked why he was up, or where he was going. She hadn’t asked if he’d had nightmares, nor told him he needed to go back to bed and rest. She didn’t pester him to share his troubles, or smother him with worry for his health._

_She saw though the act but let him have it anyway. The thoughtful look on her face and those loud, gentle eyes said so._

_She’d cocked her head a little and given him a tired smile. “You look as tired as I feel.”_

_Even the mention of the word had made his eyes threaten to sag closed._

_A wry smile had found its way to his mouth, genuine rather than a cover like he’d been wearing all day. “I’m told pots and kettles have a lot in common.”_

_She’d laughed at that. A warm, happy sound that had eased the bowstring-tight set of his shoulders and chased the cold whispers of Lahabrea’s laugh from his ears._

_Thancred could still make her laugh. He could almost feel his foul mood lifting, the bristing edges of his patience smoothing out._

_Maybe she let him feel like getting his life back, being himself again, wasn’t impossible or out of reach._

_The odd, nameless ache in his chest eased a little more._

_Ignorant to all the wheels turning is his head, Gwen had explained that her assignment had brought her to the area. She knew it would mean arriving in the dead of night, but she’d wanted to spend the night at the Waking Sands and thus made the journey._

_Thancred had listened, providing commentary and a few little jibes about the Scions missing her as much as she missed them. The lighter mood lingered, head still hazy but thoughts less prickly and bitter than they had been all day._

_It had been easier to just_ be _while she was around._

_But whatever good moods he had never lasted long. And before she’d even finished her explanation Thancred had been struck with the certainty that his newfound feeling of ease was short-lived. She would turn in for the night and he’d be left to his own devices, and without her or her conversation as a distraction…_

_He had felt his nightmares already trying to worm their way back into his thoughts. A phantom itch had ticked his palms while a cold shadow needled at the back of his neck, and the dim hallway seemed to grow just a bit darker._

_Thancred had fumbled for a way to draw out their conversation, trying to postpone Gwen retiring and stave off the return of his darker mood. For just a little longer, at least, though he’d have rather avoided it altogether._

_But it had been late, Gwen had been plainly exhausted, and conversation could only last so long when neither of them had much to say._

_Thancred had been sorely tempted to try and convince her to keep him company, p_ _erhaps join him in the library while he wasted the night on research or something equally mundane. He’d very nearly been ready to toss his pride aside –whatever he had left of it– and just plainly_ ask _._

_No. No… He wouldn't subject Gwen to a sleepless night just for his own sake. She shouldn’t suffer just because he couldn’t sleep. He of all people had no right to be a draw on her time, anyway. Hadn’t she done enough for him already?_

_He’d avoided even hinting at it, because he hadn’t been certain she’d turn him down. And he hadn’t been confident he could muster the will to turn her away if she agreed._

_Thancred had hurriedly tried to think of something else as their words dwindled._

_Well, if he really wanted to feel like himself again, perhaps returning to bed would be a little less dreadful if he had company. And he’d always thought she was quite attractive–_

_He’d nearly grimaced, snuffing the thought out like a match._

_Gwen didn’t have much interest in trysts, and he’d known that for ages. And their relationship, while close, wasn’t a romantic or intimate one -–the word 'yet’ hovered, perhaps a little hopefully. It was only just mended, too, though that arguably had more to do with Gwen than him. Still, he hadn’t been too sleep-addled to know that it had been a singularly terrible time to try and change that, so he didn’t try. Besides… she deserved far better than that._

_Thancred needed to get his head back in order before trying to change one of the few relationships he had left. He needed a good night’s sleep and an even temper, too. And patience, and his wit, and…_

_Thancred needed to be himself again._

_And then–-_

_And then…_

_Somehow they’d gotten to the stables, the consequences of being near Gwen’s mount not occuring to him until far too late to matter._

_For the life of him Thancred could barely remember what transpired between being hallway and arriving at the stables._

_He did, though, recall a jab of hope when Gwen had wearily sighed and said that she needed to tend to Duskfeather._

_Thancred couldn’t ask Gwen to stay awake with him, but he certainly had no problem staying awake with her instead. He’d immediately volunteered to accompany her, as a bit of good company to pass the time, of course._

_She hadn’t protested, thank the Twelve._

_Thus had they found themselves outside Duskfeather’s stall at gods-only-knew-when at night._

_And the griffin had the decency to not make an attempt on Thancred’s life this time. He hadn’t acted the least bit aggressive, in fact._

_It had made perfect sense once Thancred had thought about it. Duskfeather hadn’t attacked_ him  _those many months ago. He had attacked_ Lahabrea _._

_The griffin had recognized the Ascian for the threat that it was, though he had aggravatingly limited ways of communicating it. And he had also known that the threat was now passed, and that Thancred was himself again._

_The sense of reassurance Thancred had gained from that simple acknowledgement had been small at first, just like when his friends had assured him of their genuine trust and faith in him. But it had bloomed into something heavier and more meaningful the more it sank into his hazy thoughts._

_Because Duskfeather didn’t particularly care about him. Which typically wasn’t what made actions and gestures feel more meaningful._

_Duskfeather didn’t pity Thancred. He had no intention of making-nice with the rogue, or anyone else, just for their sake. Nor did he care what anyone thought of that, even Gwen. The griffin had  already made it abundantly clear that he had no qualms about making his stance known, even if that meant rustling feathers (Thancred would get bitten if he said that out loud, he just knew it) or hurting feelings, as evidenced by the months of blatant distrust and hostility he had displayed towards Lahabrea._

_Duskfeather would treat Thancred like he was himself again for no other reason than it was the truth. It was as simple and plain as that._

_It was one of the few affirmations that hadn’t glanced off the wall he’d built around himself._

_Gwen had hesitated only a briefly before letting Thancred, confidence unexpectedly bolstered, follow her into the griffin’s stall. She’d mentioned something about checking an injury of some sort, and he volunteered to help in any way she needed, though he knew next to nothing about animal care._

_At Thancred’s friendly insistence Gwen had regaled him with accounts of her assignment, despite her protest that it had been a terribly mundane affair. He didn’t care. It was time spent in good company and time he could truly let himself relax._

_And at some point the sound of her voice had lulled him to sleep._

—

Thancred smiled more widely than he had in weeks. No wonder his mind wasn’t so thick and his mood was so high. Well, so high compared to the rut it had been stuck in.

Half a night of good sleep, upright or otherwise, wasn’t enough to make up for all the hours he’d missed, but it was certainly a wonderful start.

A fresh round of complaints from his back and the growing discomfort in his legs told him he couldn’t keep sitting there, even with Gwen still soundly, adorably asleep. He needed to stretch, maybe pop his back, and rub some life back into his legs.

Thancred shifted his shoulder and squeezed her hand, “Gwen.”

Her eyes moved behind closed lids and she shifted her head, turning her face into his shoulder as though she intended to hide from the morning.

Duskfeather’s ears twitched, sharp beak opening in a wide yawn that somehow looked catlike. He, too, refused to wake.

“I understand completely,” Thancred drawled, nudging her head with his chin. “But I think further rest would be better had indoors.”

Dark green eyes opened halfway, expression drawing inward in confusion. “Hmmm…?” Gwen blinked once, twice, and then she looked up. 

It was as though a switch had been flipped.

One moment Gwen was cuddled against him, drowsy and confused, and the next she was fully tense, like she’d been caught in the middle of some illicit act. She immediately sat up, offering a bashful smile and nervous laugh by way of explanation, or maybe as an apology. 

She slipped her hand from his under the guise of trying to get her hair back in order, giving another little smile as her face turned rolanberry-red.

The previous night’s ’ _yet_ ’ flitted hopefully through Thancred’s head again.

He chuckled to himself and scooted over a few ilms, giving her a bit of space to breathe. 

“We, ah, fell asleep out here?” Gwen asked slowly, as though she didn’t quite believe it.

Duskfeather harump’d disapprovingly at the all the noise and shifting about and tucked his head under his wing. Gwen made a face at him.

Thancred bent his legs and rolled his shoulders, his back letting out a few obscenely satisfying popping sounds as he stretched, coaxing life and warmth back into his limbs. “You weren’t exaggerating when you claimed your assignment was less than interesting.”

Gwen's fluster eased, hiding behind humor as she crossed her arms in mock affront. “I did warn you, if you’ll recall. But you were fairly insistent.”

“A boring story isn’t always a bad thing. That was the best I’ve slept in weeks.” It wasn’t quite the joke he intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it more seriously.

Gwen’s smile changed slightly, growing a little warmer.

Her eyes drifted for a moment, as though she were literally searching for words. Her expression softened with something like affection and she laughed quietly, “In that case I’ll have to make a habit of taking mundane assignments.”

“Oh? You’ll bore me to sleep every night, will you?” Thancred asked with a laugh, feeling a little warmth in his chest where there had only been aching before. 

Her smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners, “Gladly.”

’ _Yet_ ’, fluttered around in his head like a butterfly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _In case it isn’t apparent yet, I’m bad at ending things._  
>  _like sooooo baaaaaaaaaaaaaaad._  
>  _ANYWAY. Change in perspective! And past-past tense!_  
>  _Meh. I’m pretty happy with it overall. May rewrite it later. My head’s been in a major fog this week, and writing has been a definite chore @_@_


	25. Ribbons

Older, experienced fingers flowed easily through motions her small, clumsy ones had always stumbled over. Gwen watched with fascination as the older woman smoothly wove the colored ribbons together, threading flower stems between the plaits without a moment’s pause.

Less than a minute later the lithe duskwight woman held a lovely, delicate crown of flowers in her hands. Gwen stared at it in wonder, marveling at the beautiful flowers and glistening ribbons.

Noticing her wide, puppy-like stare peeking from over the edge of the table the elezen smiled, pleased to have such an appreciative audience. “Here for a crown, little princess?”

Gwen drooped, forcing her eyes away from the coils of ribbon and the fragrant stacks of flowers. She wasn’t a princess. A princess had a bed, and a family, and food.

“Hmm? What’s this frown?” the woman asked curiously.

Gwen picked at the tablecloth, glancing at the dirt under her nails and her own tattered shirt by way of explanation.

The duskwight tilted her head, “You don’t want one?”

Gwen chewed her lip, looking down. She mumbled, “I do. But…”

“No buts,” she tutted, tying off the ribbons so the circlet would keep its shape, petals bright in the sunlight. “Every princess deserves a crown.”

Gwen perked up hopefully, still chewing her lip. People were charitable on holidays, and today seemed to be no exception. The crown wouldn’t last long, she knew. The blooms would wither within a few days, or less, if it wasn’t properly cared for. But she wanted something pretty, even if only for a little while.

The elezen presented her with the crown, vibrant orange oldroses interwoven with white violas against a background of rich green leaves.

Gwen hesitated, “Um…” Her mother had always said to be grateful for what she had, but she didn’t  _like_ orange.

The woman tilted her head again, confused by her hesitation.

She glanced at the piled flowers and the other braided crowns laid out on the table, most sized for an adult’s head. “Um, maybe…one with purple?” she chanced.

The duskwight woman blinked slowly.

Gwen squeaked, “Please?”

She blinked again. And then her smile widened, warm and amused. “Purple?”

Gwen nodded hopefully.

“Very well.” She set the crown aside plucked up lengths of yellow and silver ribbon, followed by lavender-hued brightlilys and bright yellow daisies, “then purple you shall have, little princess.”

Gwen’s smile was brighter than the flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _I WROTE A SHORT THING_


	26. Mother

The last child, a miquo’te girl with sandy yellow hair, scurried away, cookie in-hand and a broad grin on her face.

“You have quite a large family.” Gwen looked up at the sound of Yugiri’s voice, finding her in the nearby shadows. She hadn’t expected to see the shinobi in Ul’dah, though being unexpected and unnoticed seemed to be part of her job.

Gwen cocked her head to one side, giving her an odd look. “Do I?”

Yugiri nodded towards the child, watching as she rejoined the small flock of children dressed in similarly ill-fitting and tattered clothes, each with cookies of their own. “They call you mother.”

Gwen laughed, dusting off her knees and glancing over the contents of her basket. Still a few cookies left. “Oh, that, ha. I don’t even notice it anymore.”

The children started away as one, making for the Gate of Nald to return to Stonesthrow.

“They started calling me that all on their own.” She paused, “I…suppose I’m the closest most of them have.”

The shinobi nodded, watching as they disappeared from sight.  Her expression shifted, growing more melancholic. “I would imagine so. Orphaned children often want for the parents they don’t have.”

Gwen was curious about the quiet shinobi, as she yet knew little about her beyond the fact that she was dedicated, honorable and seemed to have a good heart. The soft sadness in the look on her face spoke of loss, and that was something Gwen was quite familiar with.

She didn’t have many cookies left (Thancred and Yda were in for a stern talk when she got back to the Stones) but there were a few. She offered one to Yugiri with a friendly smile, “Here.”

The shinobi considered the cookie for a long moment, unsure whether or not to take it. Her eyes flicked about, looking for more children, “But–”

“All of the children have had one, and I don’t have enough for them each to have two.” Gwen interrupted gently, offering the cookie a little more insistently. Even without Thancred and Yda’s thieving there wouldn’t have been enough cookies for more than one apiece. Fortunately for the rogue and monk, otherwise they would have been in  _real_ trouble. “And if you don’t treat siblings the exact same they’re liable to argue, and I’d rather not deal with that today.”

“Siblings?” the shinobi asked, accepting the sweet with mild reluctance.

Gwen shrugged, “They’re as much siblings as I am their parent.”

Yugiri nodded, understanding, looking over the simple iced decorations on the little black-mage shaped cookie. The details were less than perfect, but the figure was recognizable enough.

Had Yugiri been alone as a child? Gwen kept her wondering to herself.

“Either way, I’m glad they have each other. And I’ve asked a few friends to keep an eye on them and help whenever they need to. They aren’t alone,” Gwen said confidently. She debated putting a hand on Yugiri’s shoulder or trying some other sort of comforting gesture, and decided against it. The cookie probably sufficed. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”

A smile twitched her lips, and she nodded. “I know. They have an excellent role model.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Hnnggg I tried haha. Another short thing! :D_
> 
> _I’M ALMOST DONE. PLEAAAAASE_
> 
> _Today and yesterday I was practically speedwriting because I’ve been forgetting to do anything until, like, 9 at night._
> 
> _The idea for this came from one of the prompt responses @dholwrites put on her AO3. She’s another excellent writer, and I love all of her little quick prompt responses for all of the husbands :O_


	27. Thaw

Alphinaud did his best to give Gwen and Minfilia an abridged summary of Coerthas’ history and their relationship with Eorzea. It was an effort to make sure the former wasn’t left feeling too lost or out of her depth in the forthcoming meeting.

And it had been…curt, to put it mildly. It was quite obvious the young scholar’s view of Ishgard left something to be desired. He didn’t put much effort into concealing his annoyance as he described their isolationist ways and definitive absence during Eorzea’s myriad struggles.

Gwen made an effort to take his more opinionated words with a grain of salt, because people –and countries– could change, and perhaps this time discussions would go differently.

Mostly, though, it was because she didn’t want a sour or distrustful expression to jeopardize such an important meeting. She’d never be a politician, what with her ‘loud eyes’ (or whatever Yda had said) and her preference for candor, and that was fine with her. But her hating politics didn’t mean she could avoid them, especially with her still-growing importance.

Despite her efforts, Gwen knew she didn’t greet the Ishgardian diplomats with a completely neutral mindset. Her attempt at a calm, stoic appearance was too firm and the set of her mouth was a little too hard, resulting in her expression slipping into something more like skepticism. It wasn’t hostile or outright distrustful, at least, but she certainly didn’t look welcoming.

To his credit, Aymeric was utterly unaffected by her crossed arms and less-than-warm demeanor. He was composed and dignified from his expression to his posture to the way he spoke, and he looked every bit a man of higher station. He had an unambiguously serious air about him, but for all that Gwen noticed his ice-blue eyes were astute and calculating rather than cold and shrewd. 

The First Commander at his side was equally composed with an unmistakably businesslike, dutiful air about her. Her expression was collected and serious, stern but not uninviting or dismissive. She looked as comfortable as Aymeric with the whole situation.

Gwen needed to work on the politics thing.

Alphinaud immediately took the lead to greet the Lord Commander and his Second, and Gwen was glad for it. Speaking could be difficult enough at times without having the extra hurdles of propriety to consider. She had no problem standing impassively beside her friend, working to subtly fix her expression into something more courteous and blank like the First Commander’s. She had a reputation for being quiet anyway, because she found it more beneficial to listen and wait rather than jump into the conversation.

While Alphinaud and the Ishgardian emissaries traded pleasantries Gwen found herself wondering what she and and the younger elezen looked like to them. Her and her companion were different in numerous ways, something she only truly noticed when she sat down and thought about it. Not to mention how  _young_  Alphinaud was compared to her.

Gwen looked like an adventurer, or maybe a hero if she was being generous… and if her clothes were in good condition. They were then, thankfully, or she would have felt even  _more_  out of place. Alphinaud looked like a scholar or diplomat, perfectly at home in such prestigious company. And he spoke smoothly and confidently even has he had to all but look straight up to address the man in a position far above his own.

What did Gwen look like to them? Did she look like an adventurer, ordinary or otherwise? Did she look like a Scion? Did she match whatever descriptions and rumors they may have heard?

How composed and proper did she look in her array of garnet, gray and black cloth and leather, an ensemble plainly made for combat practicality rather than formality? With her chapped lips, tanned skin, mussed braid and the flyaway hairs she’d hastily smoothed flat (because the thought to just rebraid her hair had utterly slipped her mind) did she look like the woman they had expected to meet?

What did she look like compared to Alphinaud? His appearance was far more refined and elegant with his attire of blue, white and silver. His clothes were less suited to combat and the cold, but made for a far sharper and cleaner figure. He had the forethought to abandon his cloak before the meeting for appearance’s sake, and he’d made sure to properly brush his hair back in order after the icy winds had tried to play with it.

Gods, normally she wouldn’t care, but this was  _important._  And it was proving difficult not to feel at least a little out of place or underdressed. 

Gwen wondered if she looked more like a bodyguard than a hero. With how she was standing behind and a little off to the side of Alphinaud, arms crossed, nearly frowning and not talking, she probably about fit the bill. 

Well, that wouldn’t have been a terribly inaccurate description. She’d done a good deal of guarding others as her reputation grew, from merchants to wounded soldiers to a few of the Scions.

Maybe her life would be a little simpler if she were only a bodyguard…

When the introductions were nearing a close Gwen listened and politely inclined her head at the right moment. She decided to continue refraining from words. What would she say, anyway? Nervousness was building slowly under her skin and making her thoughts skittish. Or perhaps it was more impatience. 

Whichever it was, it was getting in the way when she tired to think of proper conversation. Irreverent comments and jokes kept springing to mind instead, attempting to alleviate her growing anxious energy, but they weren’t terribly funny or helpful.

When Gwen expected them to move for the table Aymeric instead turned from Alphinaud to focus solely on her. He had a question, maybe…?

Aymeric’s expression changed in a way she wasn’t expecting, softening slightly at the edges and his eyes lighting just a little in a way that made him appear genuinely pleased and perhaps a little…excited? “Speaking of reputations, yours towers over us all.”

The woman at his side nodded slightly, with some subtle, knowing look coming over her face. “It does indeed, Lord Commander.”

Not wrong, but mention of her reputation made Gwen leery. She was never one to give rumors or gossip too much weight or space in her head, but she was very aware of how word of mouth and tales of deeds were all too easily warped and exaggerated, for better or worse. Some people treated secondhand accounts as a substitute for first impressions or introductions, forming expectations about what Gwen could do and what she was like before they’d even met.

The Warrior of Light’s reputation was mostly positive, but sometimes the title, even without exaggeration, didn’t fit Gwen very well. Or it felt that way to her, at least. 

What sort of stories had the Lord Commander heard? What did he already know, or think he knew, about her? What did he think of her?

“I am not too proud to admit,” Aymeric said with the slightest hint of a smile, “that I have followed your activities with an interest bordering on fascination. Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us.”

The sincerity of his tone caught her off guard, and the way he was looking directly at her and the little bit of emphasis she could have sworn he put on ‘you’ didn’t help. ‘You’ like…her? Well, he certainly wasn’t addressing Alphinaud, so perhaps…

She needed to get used to the hero thing, too. She was the Warrior of Light, surely it made sense people would be happy to see  _her_  in particular. The thought made her stomach squirm.

Well, it seemed Aymeric had heard only good things, and that was a relief. As was the slight slip of his diplomatic stoicism that allowed that bit of genuine interest to shine through. Perhaps this wouldn’t be quite as arduous of a meeting as she was expecting.

Gwen’s expression lightened and the cross of her arms loosened, a little more at ease than she had been since the Ishgardian emissaries had arrived.

She was suddenly sure she had to speak, but didn’t know what to say. All of the possible replies sounded shaky in her head, and most ended with noncommittal question marks.

Instead she fell back on humor, as she so often did when a more composed (or proper) response evaded her. 

“Heh, let me guess,” one corner of her mouth turned up to a small smile as she cocked her head slightly to one side, “you thought I’d be taller?”

Surprise flickered across his face before he could stop it. Perhaps he didn’t expect a joke in such a prestigious setting.

Which was fair. It wasn’t the setting for jokes and wit, unless it was of the dry sort. Perhaps she’d spent too much time around Thancred.

“Guinevere!” Alphinaud hissed under his breath. His scolding tone made her smile wider, though she successfully suppressed a laugh that was equal parts amused and nervous. She watched him struggle briefly with his exasperation before he succeeded in reining it in, holding on to it for later rather than expressing it right then.

With the sort of speed and skill known only to poker players and gifted actors (and maybe diplomats, too) the Lord Commander recovered. He wiped the confusion from his face, a hint of a smile lingering for a moment before he replaced it with an expression that was appropriately businesslike.

Her jest hadn’t completely missed the mark, at least, and she felt a great deal more comfortable for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Oh wow, posted at reasonable time? ~~It’s almost like I was at work today.~~_  
>  _I’m a good employee I swear._  
>  _Aymeric yaaaaaay :D_


	28. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place week and a half or 2 weeks after "Safety"

Of course it’s raining when Gwen returns to Vesper Bay. It isn’t even monsoon season, which means she’s at one of the two far reaches of luck.

Her clothes are heavy and clinging as she pulls off Duskfeather’s tack, lugging the water-laden saddle to its post and hanging the reins beside it. He has the decency not to fluff his feathers and violently shake himself dry until she’s safely out of the stall. Gwen’s glad for it, as she smells enough like wet griffin as it is.

The sprint through the rain to the Waking Sands is lonely and uneventful. As she shoulders her way through the door Gwen is sure she looks more like a drowned rat than the warrior who felled Ifrit for a second time. 

Tataru’s greeting is cut short with a squeak of surprise, followed by a flurry of worried questions as she scampers around the desk. The receptionist’s hands are alternately thrown in the air and clutching together, and she uses Gwen and Guinevere interchangeably as she explains how they were growing worried. Gwen weathers her fretful concern with a smile as she wrings out her clothing and hair as best she can. It’s been four days since she left the Waking Sands, and none had assumed slaying Ifrit again would be an easy feat.

However, when Tataru says they had expected to hear from her sooner, embarrassment and a hint of guilt hike Gwen’s shoulders a little higher. An explanation and an apology crash together clumsily as her hand flutters to her pocket, and the jumble slides off her tongue as she produces the small pile of scraps that was once a linkpearl. She had spent a little while recovering in Camp Drybone after the whole ordeal, and she thought the Flames would have said something about her condition in their initial report.

The broken device earns a frown, but otherwise Tataru is simply happy to see her hale and whole.

Gwen makes it all the way to the library before she sees anyone else. The air of the Scions’ hideout, normally comfortable, is cool on her wet skin and soaked clothes. She plans to give Urianger her report first, before she forgets anything (else) that might have escaped the initial report from the Flames, and then she’ll see about dry clothes and warming up in her room.

Urianger, Papalymo and Thancred are having some sort of discussion when she pushes the library door open, still looking less than heroic. Their conversation quickly stops, replaced with a collective breath of relief. There’s a hearty laugh from from Thancred that’s shortly followed by a weary sigh from Papalymo. Whether it was aimed  at Gwen or the rogue, though, she’s not sure.

Thancred immediately sets out to get her a towel, already past her and out the door before she can properly protest. Gwen accepts the offer with a reluctant groan before handing Urianger the metal scroll tube containing her account and a more in-depth report from the Flames. She’s grateful Tataru reminded her to take the little carrying device, and that she’d remembered to use it, otherwise the reports would be ruined now.

Urianger and Papalymo have a few questions, but they don’t detain her too long. Being soaked to the bone and looking miserable is a good way to keep conversations short and make others at least hesitate before imposing on her good will, though that hadn’t been Gwen’s initial intent.

Thancred is in the hallway with the promised towel when she leaves the library, grinning as though he’d only just stopped laughing. He starts chuckling all over again when she admits she broke yet another linkpearl, adding a fond shake of his head. He takes one end in each hand and wraps the towel around her shoulders like a cloak, pulling it snug enough to press against her arms instead of hanging lose. 

And then he’s close. It’s probably the closest he’s been since they woke up in the stables a few weeks ago.

Gwen’s heart does a nervous little skip. Her smile is entirely too bashful to belong to the person who has twice slain Ifrit. She can smell sandalwood, the same scent that had filled her senses when she woke with her head against his shoulder. Her thoughts sputter and scatter, and her usual shield of a quick joke or quip has utterly abandoned her.

His hands are still there, lingering and holding the towel in place for her because she isn’t doing it herself. 

For a moment she debates not reaching up to hold it, wondering if that might mean he’d stay so close. 

W-where had that come from?

She tries to hide a sudden swell of anxious energy by curling her fingers in the cloth, pulling it more tightly around her shoulders as though using to hold everything in. The sudden urge to maybe let her fingers brush his is smothered almost immediately, and she chooses instead to keep her hands far from his. She resolutely doesn’t fidget, though it’s agonizing to be still. She resists the urge to laugh awkwardly or fumble over a nonsensical excuse and flee to her room.

She  _likes_  being close, she just…doesn’t know what to do. She never knows what to do.

Thancred says something but Gwen can’t quite hear it over the quick rhythm of her heart in her ears. Judging by the rakish cant to his smile, it was something flirty and charming. It always is. Gwen is envious that words always come so easily to him.

He’s close enough she can almost feel his warmth, and his hands still hold the towel around her like a blanket. Between whatever he said that made him smirk like that, and how close he’s standing, and the way he’s looking at her… Gwen’s convinced he’s trying to break her composure, teasing and flirting because he’s always entertained when she gets flustered. 

Gwen’s face feels warm and she knows her cheeks are highlighted with brilliant red. She can’t help it. Trying to suppress it normally makes it worse. A shy giggle escapes her that’s far too coy for the Warrior of Light, slayer of Eikons and the Ultima weapon. She’s still not sure what he said, but the amusement dancing in his eyes makes it plain that was the sort of response he’d been hoping for. 

The hallway is so quiet and still. Somehow it’s private despite the open space all around them. Space she only barely remembers is there. It feels as though they’re the only ones for malms even though Papalymo and Urianger are just a few fulms away on the other side of a door. 

Gwen can’t get over how close they’re standing. It sits stubbornly at the front of her attention, try as she might to ignore it. Thancred’s still there, still looking at her and smiling even though he could move away. And she’s still there, too, and she hasn’t said anything at all, just giggled and smiled at him. 

Whenever she breathes she smells sandalwood and its messing with her head. She wonders if he can hear her heart racing. And then she wonders what has gotten into her, why she’s turned into a giddy–

He leans a little closer. Maybe. She’s not sure, she’s trying not to pay attention to that. Whatever she’d been thinking is suddenly gone.

Curiosity touches Thancred’s expression. He shifts just a hair closer, having to look slightly down to hold her gaze. His smile lingers as he raises one brow slightly, head tilting just a bit to one side. A question he asks with a look rather than words.

Question about what? Why she’s standing there uselessly? Probably –hopefully– not, his expression is too genial for that.

If she’s alright with the closeness, perhaps? Gwen’s more conservative than many of the Scions, though not entirely of her own choice. She’s not well versed with tactile gestures and physical affection, hesitating briefly before she responds to hugs or the touch of a hand, second guessing herself when she tries to emulate a friendly pat on the shoulder or the other things her friends find so easy. Thancred is aware of that, perhaps moreso than the other Scions, and he’s trying to be respectful of it.

He’s asking, with the arch of his brow and the slight movement closer, how close he can be. He knows her and is aware of her boundaries, but perhaps she’d let him push them a little?

Her heart feels like it’s floating, a fluffy surge of affection shifting the curve of her smile and easing the tension in her posture.

Gwen wants to do something, but words are jittery and jumbled and bashful, fluttering around in her head like dazed butterflies.  She’s always found him attractive but that didn’t used to  _matter_ , it was just…a fact she could file away. Now it’s getting in the way of everything, even just saying a simple ‘thank you’ –because she hasn’t yet, she realizes, she hasn’t thanked him for bringing her the towel she’s clinging to.

She simply  _can’t_. She’s distracted by Thancred’s eyes and his smirk, his warmth and the scent of sandalwood are enticing and frightening at the same time, and she’s positive he can hear her heart racing. She tries to push it aside and think of something else, maybe something to say, at least, to distract herself and calm down. Another, easier laugh that sounds a bit like an admission and an apology slides past her lips.

Apparently that answered his question. Whatever it was.

Thancred relaxes a fraction and his grip loosens, hands drifting along the edges of the terrycloth as he shifts a little. 

His hands settle near hers rather than drawing away entirely and Gwen realizes she’s clutching the towel rather desperately. Her heart is doing weird skips and drops in her chest, and she doesn’t know what to make of them.

She still can’t think of something to do–how to respond or anything else. Her head empty but for nervousness and details like the crinkles at the corners of Thancred’s eyes and the difference in their heights. And,  _yes_ , he definitely moved closer after she ‘answered’ his question, and…

Can he tell her mind isn’t working and she’s too overcome to do anything? Does he know what effect he’s having? He must. There’s no way he doesn’t

Gwen’s knees feel weak. She’s leaning in a little, too, and she’s not sure when that started. Excitement and nervousness are making her chest tight. 

Thancred’s hands shift slightly and his expression shifts with them, something knowing and confident growing in the tilt of his mouth. Gwen has no idea what he’s thinking, but she’s positive it’s more composed than the jumble in her head.

The urge to do  _something_  has her brimming with more energy than clutching fingers and the tight wrap of the towel can suppress. She’s teetering between leaning in or pulling away, because surely that would be better than just standing there? And she feels nearly lightheaded leaning so close and she’s sure she must look awkward.

But she can’t bring herself to try and take a step. Too nervous, too unsure what he’s thinking, too unsure what  _she’s_  thinking. Too unsure if she’d rather see what happens next or flee from it and be left with nebulous questions instead of solid answers.

Gwen tears her eyes away and lowers her head a fraction with an unsteady little laugh. She pries a hand free to wipe water off her face, dispelling a modicum of energy and finding a little steadiness with the motion. Her face is  _burning_  and the realization only makes it grow hotter. Her hand lingers awkwardly at her cheek, suddenly unsure where to go now.

This shouldn’t be hard and confusing, but it is. She’s not some blushing virgin or child, and yet her heart is going crazy and her mind has shut off. And Thancred’s always had…something. Something different, something that’s gotten to her more than anyone else she’s met. 

Did this happen with, uh…whoever her last lover had been? Probably not. She doesn’t remember feeling so pleasantly overwhelmed before.

Twelve, Gwen can’t even remember his name right now. She’ll feel bad about that later. Later. At the moment she’s too distracted for the thought to linger for more than a second.

Fluster is different than this, she knows. She’s not flustered. She’s excited and bashful and hopeful and all three together feel strange, uplifting and emboldening and paralyzing all at once. Her heart’s still beating too fast, and her stomach does a flip every time she breathes the scent of sandalwood.

How long have they been standing there? Probably seconds, but it feels like hours.

Thancred chuckles, a confident and warm sound, and he tugs lightly on the towel to pull her closer. She leans with the pull as far as she trusts her balance but doesn’t move her feet. She’ll collapse if she does. She’s not even sure she has knees.

His tone is amused and warm, “Dove.”

Dove?

Gwen blinks, confusion needle-thin as it pierces the giddy, panicked haze in her head with sudden clarity. She’s heard him toss around ‘my dear’, ‘darling’ and plenty of things about flowers in his flirting, but she’s never heard him call anyone ‘dove’. 

Gwen lifts her head, curious and a little timid. She can kill demigods and weapons but for the past moon she can’t keep her head on her shoulders around Thancred. 

Thancred’s smile is a little softer and his eyes are different somehow. She knows there’s a difference, but Gwen can’t put her finger on what it is. He’s still all confidence and charm, but his expression is warmer and fonder than before. Maybe. The easy mirth is still there, but it’s changed shades to something that’s bordering on affectionate. Or…or is she imagining that?

“Gil for your thoughts?” He’s speaking quietly but the hall is silent and it sounds loud. Her heart is still racing, but it’s somewhere near her navel and she can’t hear it so well anymore. 

“U-uh…” Her mouth is dry and she licks her lips without thinking about it. It doesn’t help. 

The pressure of the towel against her shoulders eases off. She makes a split-second decision not to follow it. 

There’s something genuinely pleased, and maybe a little satisfied, in Thancred’s smile before leans down and presses his lips against hers.

A dizzying warmth blooms across her skin as her eyes flutter shut. Her head is suddenly empty and quiet. She can’t hear her heart beating, but she doesn’t care.

What little sense she does still have kicks in after a moment and she leans into him and kisses him back. Or she tries to, at least, as she can scarcely move. 

The hand she left hovering drops to his shoulder, something stable to help her light head. It almost works. His mouth guides hers, soft and steady compared and sending goosebumps racing down her arms.

Eventually Thancred pulls away enough to murmur, “Welcome back, dove.”

Gwen can only laugh, and barely even that because she’s out of breath. 

Words slip off her tongue when she has enough breath to sustain them, “I missed you,” and she’s not sure where they came from, she’s barely been gone, but they’re true. 

Her fingers curl in his shirt and his rakish smirk comes back. She meets him halfway this time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _Have I mentioned I suck at fluff because I do and this was **SO. HARD.**_  
>  _But I’m happy with it! AND I ALMOST GOT IT OUT ON TIME_  
>  _Wanted to write present-tense and try for more minimal dialogue. I feel like Dialogue is the aspect of writing I’m best at, at least in terms of making people sound natural, so I wanted to try for something mostly without it._  
>  _Might get rewritten later, but maybe not. I’ll think about it_  
>  __  
>  ~~FUCK FLUFF AND CUTE STUFF IS HARD~~  
> 


	29. Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-4.0, pre 4.2

The clouds overhead were thin enough the sun poked through in a few places, the wind steady but not harsh. Providence Point was a peaceful, respectful kind of quiet, disturbed only by the steady wind and the crunch of Gwen’s boots through the snow.

Gwen examined the ice that has laminated Haurchefant’s headstone and shield, glistening in the occasional ribbon of sunlight, and ran her fingers along it. She took the time to carefully melt the ice away, picking bits of grit and small stones out of the engravings with her fingers.

—————————————–

The winds on Azys Lla were harsh, not so cold as Coerthas but dry and biting. The place was deserted, eerie, but the wind kept it from being silent.  There wasn’t a marker for Ysayle like there was for Haurchefant. But there was the place at the end of the long, metal pathway that stuck out into the sky like a spur. There was a place Estinien had left flowers.

Gwen set a flat, simple stone where she recalled the bouquet once resting, Ysayle’s name etched into it. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else to add to it. One day she would, and she’d bring another stone to put there, too.

—————————————–

The Black Shroud hadn’t yet reclaimed the squat, blank stones that sat beside the ruins of an old shack. The forest mumbled around her, birds chirping, bugs buzzing, branches and grasses rustling in the slight breeze.

Gwen cleared away the creeping vines and unwelcome weeds, wiping away dust and dirt from the flat surfaces. She mumbled to the ones who rested there, her father and her younger brother, telling them she was well and giving a summary of the things she’d done since her last visit. A summary that excluded the worst of her injuries.

—————————————–

Amarissaix’s Spire was close to her old home, relatively, at least, and Gwen went there next. At the top of the spire she stared off into the northeast, where the great, magical cocoon had floated in the sky, and thought of  Papalymo.

There were still so many more places and memorials she wanted to visit… And yet more still with no memorial, like Ysayle.

——————————————

Thancred met her in Revenant’s Toll’s aetheryte plaza. So much use of aethyrical travel, especially in one day, left Gwen drained and feeling terribly ill as she landed on the cobbles. She sat heavily next to the glowing crystal with a groan, taking measured breaths in the hopes they would help.

“…Why do I have the feeling you don’t intend to stay?” Thancred drawled knowingly.

“I need to go to Rathefrost,” she replied weakly, rubbing her eyes with clumsy fingers to stop her head from spinning. Duskfeather would be up for the trip, especially with how he’d been left in the stables the past few days.

Thancred tutted, “Thaliak’s Stone will still be there the day after tomorrow,” and gathered her into his arms. “Your visit can wait.”

A few grumbles of protest were all Gwen could offer as he started for Seventh Heaven, though it was a relief not to have to stand under her own power. She leaned her head against his shoulder, deciding that she could at least rest long enough to ensure she wouldn’t wretch on the trip. Duskfeather would certainly appreciate it.

Thancred had said Thaliak’s Stone. He knew what she’d been up to.

It was hardly surprising, given how he always seemed to be able to read her mind. He knew her better than anyone. Gwen managed a smile in spite of her low mood and the queasy weakness that refused to leave.

She blinked slowly, considering the rest of his statement, “Day after…?”

“I’m quite certain you won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow with the way you’ve been casting yourself hither and yon since sunrise.” Thancred shouldered the door open, “Moenbryda would have a few things to say about that, by the way.”

Gwen’s eyes threatened to shut as she worked to formulate a retort. Instead, she came up with an idea. Another place she needed to visit. “Minfilia’s office.”

Thancred glanced at her and she felt the slightest misstep.

She lifted her head, eyes half-open and tired but determined. “I want to go to Minfilia’s office first.”

His expression shifted, something heavy casting a shadow across his eye that didn’t quite hide a glimmer of appreciation. “And then you rest.”

Gwen nodded, “Then I’ll rest.” For a little while.

…Or all night, and most of the next day, as it turned out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr:  
>  _ ~~Someone has been reading someone else’s journal again~~_  
>  _Who has two thumbs and is done 6 days late????_  
>  _THIS GIRL_
> 
> _Lost the plot a little at the end, but wanted something cute to end it all with._
> 
> _:D_


End file.
